


Season Two

by blazingskies2970



Series: Shameless Rewrite: Partner, Lover, Family [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Bipolar Disorder, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mpreg, POV Multiple, Shameless (US) Season Two, Smut, Top Ian Gallagher, aww they're so in love, but also good parenting, roughly follows canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingskies2970/pseuds/blazingskies2970
Summary: “Don’t,” he says, so quiet that Mickey almost didn’t catch it. “Don’t what?” Mickey snaps. What’s Gallagher playing at?  “Don’t… kill it.”It's summertime in Chicago, and Fiona is feeling overwhelmed as usual as Jimmy returns to the United States; Lip tries to sabotage Karen and Jody's impending marriage; and Ian continues his relationship with Mickey, with a few surprises and an extra person.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher/Jimmy Lishman, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher/Karen Jackson, Lip Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich
Series: Shameless Rewrite: Partner, Lover, Family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978276
Comments: 193
Kudos: 363





	1. Summer Loving, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> *** means a pov change 
> 
> double line spacing means a time change
> 
> Yay! Part 2 is here!

It’s June when Mickey finally gets out. Mandy said she would pick him up, and there she is, smirking at him from behind the fence. She’s grown since he saw her last, wearing skinny black jeans and a jacket with the sleeves cut off. At least she’s gotten rid of those god-awful blonde highlights in her hair, though she still has the red ones. And- holy fuck- Gallagher’s with her. He looks… he looks good. The guard lets Mickey out of the gate, and Mickey turns to smirk at one of his roomies, who’s flipping him off as he watches him leave. 

He can’t stop looking at Gallagher as he walks towards them. His shoulders have filled out since he saw him last and Mickey can see his goddamn pecs pressing against his shirt. He feels his knees going weak and his stomach fluttering and- 

“The hell’s he doing here?” he asks because he hates the feelings he’s feeling right now. 

“Hey, Mick,” Gallagher says at the same time Mandy says, “He thought I needed protection.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mickey responds, still staring at Gallagher because he _can’t fucking stop_ , his eyebrows lifting up. Dammit, he looks so _good._ “Trust me,” he continues. “You may think you know my sister, but you don’t know my sister ‘till you’ve fought my sister.” 

He hugs Mandy, breathing in the comforting scent of her shampoo. For a second, he wonders if she can feel the hardness in his lower stomach, and she presses against him, but then he shakes it off- of course she can’t feel it, he can barely feel it sometimes. 

“She’s protecting your ass,” he says to Gallagher, glancing at him briefly. 

“You smell like barbecue sauce,” Mandy complains. He did eat barbecue chicken for lunch. 

“Smell like what?” he retorts, going for her left nipple. It’s a playful banter they’ve kept up since they were kids, no real meaning behind it, but Mandy still winces and says angrily, “Ow! What did Dad tell you?” She grabs his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. 

“Ow!” he groans, “Fuck the police?” because that was his dad’s favorite saying. 

Mandy pushes him away, and he flattens his hair down. So what if he wants to look good? Gallagher is standing _right there,_ watching them with a smirk on his face. 

“No titty-twisters now that I’m a C-cup!” 

“C-cup, bitch you wish,” he responds, looking away because of Gallagher’s stupid smile. He sees some inmates, the ones he’s fought most with, and shouts to them, “Ay! Fuck you, fuck you, and especially fuck you!” He gives the last one the middle finger, just because. 

Then all of a sudden, Gallagher’s hand is on his shoulder, pushing him away. “Alright, alright,” he’s saying. “Jesus, let’s get out of here before they throw you back in.” He wraps an arm around Mickey’s shoulder, and his other one around Mandy, but Mickey just can’t. He slaps Gallagher’s arm away and adjusts his jacket on his shoulder. He knows Gallagher doesn’t know yet, but he hates how he’s acting, as if nothing is wrong, as if Mickey currently isn’t knocked up with his kid and scared and has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. 

Gallagher walks them all the way home, hugging Mandy briefly before she makes her way inside. Mickey goes to follow her, but Gallagher catches his wrist before he can leave. 

“The fuck you want?” Mickey says, turning to him. 

“Meet me at the baseball field tonight at 8,” he says, and fuck his green eyes stare and Mickey and all Mickey can do is say he’ll be there. Gallagher nods and lets go of his wrist. “See you later,” he says and Mickey can feel his eyes boring into his back as he walks into his house and makes a point to slam the door. Mickey knows why Gallagher wanted to meet there tonight- they’re going to bang, of course, which is good because Mickey hasn’t had it in 4 months. 

“Welcome home,” Mandy says sarcastically as he walks into the living room. The house still looks the same, with shit everywhere that no one bothered to pick up. 

“I need to piss,” Mickey declares and walks into his bedroom, which he’s surprised to see has changed. His couch and his old bed are gone, and instead there’s a queen size bed, pressed up against the wall the couch used to be. At least his posters are still there, which means it’s still his room. If anybody had moved in while he was in juvie, he knows they’d take them down. Mickey dumps his bag of stuff on his new bed and makes his way into the bathroom. He wasn’t lying- he did have to piss, but he also wanted to do something else. He shuts the door and locks it, and finally it’s just him- alone. 

He opens up the door beneath the sink and grabs one of Mandy’s pregnancy tests. He hopes she won’t miss one. He pisses not only on the test, but also on himself, and makes a face as he washes his hands. The box says the test takes 5 minutes, so he starts a shower while he waits. He puts the test on the floor behind the toilet, in case anyone walks in on him. 

As he’s in the shower, he runs his hands along his lower stomach again. The hardness is still there. He swallows hard and shuts his eyes, but all he gets is Gallagher’s smirking face in his head. This is harder than he thought. 

When he gets out of the shower, he wraps a towel around himself and shivers in the air of the bathroom. He guesses 5 minutes are up, so he digs the test out from behind the toilet and-

2 lines. 

Even an idiot could know what that means. 

He’s pregnant. He’s most definitely, absolutely, undeniably, pregnant. 

He cleans the test, then hides under his mattress until he can throw it out when he’s alone. He sits on his bed as tears prick in his eyes. He allows himself 2 minutes of faggy crying, then dries himself off and changes his clothes. 

Iggy’s in the kitchen, drinking a beer. “Mickey!” he says when he spies his brother. “How was juvie, man?” 

“Boring as fuck,” Mickey says, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with one water. “I’ve been pussy deprived for 4 months,” he adds, just so Iggy doesn’t get suspicious. He drains the glass and hopes Iggy doesn’t it’s too weird that he’s drinking fucking water. 

Thankfully, Iggy’s never been the observant type, and he just says, “I know what you mean, man. That’s the fucking hardest part of it. You should fuck guys though, or else you’ll end up being someone’s bitch. I learned that pretty quick.” 

Cold dread settles inside Mickey. Did Iggy know somehow? “Fuck no. I ain’t a fag,” he responds, then says something about being tired and gets the fuck out of there. 

He curls up on himself in his room, his back to the door, like he did in juvie, although this time, his fingers find his stomach. 

He meets Gallagher at 8 o’clock at the baseball field near their houses, just like he said he would. Gallagher nods as a greeting and they hop the fence. 

“Hot as balls tonight,” Mickey says after a moment of tense silence. He snorts and spits phlegm, a remnant of him crying earlier. 

“So I’m taking Geometry, Algebra 2, Trigonometry, Chemistry,” Gallagher says. It’s the most normal thing Mickey thinks he’s ever said to him. 

He glances over at Gallagher, only to find he’s looking at him, too. “During the summer?” Mickey asks. 

“Well, I’m trying to get into West Point,” Gallagher says. And fuck, Mickey didn’t know that. Isn’t that a college? And isn’t Gallagher only 16? He’s had his birthday while Mickey was in juvie, he knows that. He’s only gonna be a junior, and he’s already worried about after high school? Mickey also didn’t know Gallagher wanted to go into the army. _Fuck, that’s kinda hot,_ he thinks. 

Mickey laughs, because isn’t military college a little excessive? “If you want the army to give you a fucking gun, all you gotta do is enlist. Recruiting station’s like, two blocks that way.” He takes off his backpack, full of beer, more for Gallagher than himself, and gestures in a direction with his head. 

“But I wanna be an officer,” Gallagher says, letting Mickey go into the dugout they were heading for first. 

Mickey unzips his backpack and takes out a can. “Wanna be an officer, huh?” he says. “Don’t officers get shot first?” He glances back at Gallagher and can’t help but grin. The moonlight is highlighting his face. He’s lost some of his freckles, but Mickey doesn’t mind. He’s still hot as fuck. And the way he’s walking, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging at his side- fuck. 

Mickey chuckles and throws his bag on the wooden bench. “Here. Shotgun,” he says, taking his knife out of his pocket and flipping it open. He braces the beer can against the concrete ledge and stabs it near the bottom. He pops the top and hands it to Gallagher, who takes it with his ridiculously long fingers. Mickey finds himself mesmerized with the way his throat bobs as he sucks down all the beer, tilting his head to get the last drops. 

He leans his head down when he’s finished, letting the last of the beer splatter on the ground and moves past Mickey, setting the can down. He coughs, covering his mouth with his wrist. There’s beer dripping down his face, and Mickey plays with the side of his mouth with his tongue. He’s horny, sure, but he can’t stop thinking about the thing inside him. The thing that’s his and that’s Gallagher’s- Gallagher, who’s standing right in front of him, dusting his hands off and saying, “So you make a lot of friends on the inside?” 

And before Mickey can stop himself, he’s interrupting Gallagher and blurting out, “I’m pregnant.” 

Gallagher stops. “What?” 

“I said I’m pregnant.” 

Gallagher laughs, although his eyes dart to the side like he’s scared. “You’re fucking funny, Mick.” 

“I ain’t joking,” Mickey says, and he realizes it’s too late to go back now. Gallagher’s never been one to let things go easily. “I’m an active carrier. Been having periods since I was like 13.”

“The fuck?” Gallagher says, and he’s shoving at Mickey. “What the fuck?” he says again, louder. 

Mickey holds his hands up. “Calm your tits,” he says. “I didn’t think I could actually get knocked up, ya know? Even among active carriers, it’s pretty fucking rare.” 

Gallagher’s mouth is hanging open slightly, and he’s staring at Mickey. 

“Found out in the joint,” he continues, because Gallagher’s not saying anything else. “Threw up for a bit. Nothing to kill it with in there, and I-” 

“Is it mine?” Gallagher interrupts, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

“‘Course it’s yours. Haven’t let anyone else fuck me. But that doesn’t mean you have to do shit. I’ll take care of it.” 

He knows he won’t. The thought of killing the thing inside of him makes him want to throw up, though the thought of raising a baby by himself also makes him want to throw up. 

“Take care of it?” Gallagher echoes. 

“I’ll have to steal shit, abortions are pretty expensive,” Mickey says. He doesn’t know how to tell Gallagher that when he felt it, he couldn’t kill it. He can’t tell him that he wants it to have his eyes. 

“Abortion?” Gallagher echoes. His brow furrows. “You’re seriously pregnant?” 

“Yes,” Mickey says, although it comes out like a question and he raises his eyebrow. Does Gallagher really not believe him? 

“How far along?” Gallagher whispers. 

“At least four months now, that’s the last time we banged,” Mickey says. 

“Don’t,” he says, so quiet that Mickey almost didn’t catch it. 

“Don’t what?” Mickey snaps. What’s Gallagher playing at? 

“Don’t… kill it.” 

Mickey stares at Ian for a long time. Did he really just say that? “What kind of world are you fucking living in? You’re 16 fucking years old. I was just in juvie. We’re both poor as shit, and if I don’t end up homeless, my fucking father will literally murder me. Gallagher, don’t you get it? There’s only one solution here.” 

“But… it’s a baby. It’s _our_ baby.” 

Gallagher moves towards him, like he’s going to kiss him, but Mickey jerks his face away. 

“It’s _my_ baby, it ain’t in your body, so I get to do what I want with it.” 

“I’ll help,” the other boy says. “I’ll stay with you. Please.” 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Why?” he says, and that’s an honest question. Dads who stick around are extremely rare. Most dads leave as soon as they find out, especially teenage ones. “Aren’t you going to fucking West Point?” 

Gallagher shakes his head. “Not for another two years. Just… I’ll help you, okay? You can stay at my place, if you’re worried about your dad. I want it. I want this.” 

Mickey stares at Gallagher for a long time, feeling tears prick in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he says, wiping at his face. “Fuck you and your stupid eyes.” 

Gallagher seems taken back by that comment. “Look, I like you, okay?” he says, and oh no. Oh no, no, no. “I like you alot. And if you’re really pregnant, then it’s my kid too, okay? And I’m not fucking going anywhere.” 

Mickey shoves at his chest and sits down on the wooden bench, hunched over himself. After a beat, Gallagher joins him, pressing in close and resting his hand behind Mickey’s body. 

“Four months, you said?” Gallagher asks softly. Mickey nods, staring at his hands. “Shit, must’ve been tough in juvie. Are you-” he hesitates, as if he’s not sure if he should continue, but then he does anyway. “Are you still throwing up?” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he replies. “I still get nauseous sometimes, though. And I get headaches.” 

“Shit,” Gallagher says again. “If you need anything, just come to me, alright? I’ll help you. I swear.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned that,” Mickey grumbles. 

***

Ian’s mind is swirling as he walks home in the dark. He takes the long way after seeing Mickey off at his house, because he needs time to think. 

Mickey’s a carrier. And he’s pregnant. 

He knows what a carrier is, of course, he’s not stupid. Men with both internal reproductive organs. He also knows that most of the time, the organs are just there and don’t do anything. Most carriers get theirs removed, and move on with life. But he knows that there’s a tiny percentage that are called “active,” because the organs actually _work,_ actually release eggs and shed period blood and shit. But even among that 0.01% or whatever, it’s pretty rare to actually get pregnant. So what are the odds that Mickey is an active carrier who has the potential to get knocked up? (Well, seeing as he already is, pretty high, then)

Ian has no doubt he knocked Mickey up. He knows Mickey doesn’t screw around with other guys; he knows he’s the only one. Mickey has never said the word _gay_ in his lifetime, he’s pretty sure, it’s always _fag._ He also made it very clear he’s 100% straight, although Ian doubts that percentage a little bit, based on how much Mickey likes Ian’s dick. He might’ve had everyone else in the entire world convinced he’s straight, as well, but Ian knows that’ll be harder now that he’s pregnant. 

Fuck, Mickey’s pregnant. And it’s his fault. They never used condoms. Ian used condoms with Kash, and Mickey said he always used them with girls ‘cause he didn’t want to knock someone up, so Ian figured there was no danger. How wrong he was. 

His house comes into view, and Ian almost hates himself for making Mickey keep the baby. He’s always loved kids, always played with the babies Debbie had at her daycare over the summers. And when he realized Mickey was having _his_ kid- something came alive in him, something that he knew would kill him if Mickey had an abortion. But now, looking at his run down house, he thinks that Mickey is right. They’re in no position to have a kid. They’re both poor as fuck, and Ian isn’t even out of high school yet. Not to mention their neighborhood is homophobic, and Mickey’s dad is a Nazi. 

But he _almost_ hates himself. _Almost._ Because that part inside of him is back, and he feels himself start to cry. He’s going to have a kid. A kid with Mickey, no less, who smiles when Ian takes him and takes nobody’s shit and is as strong as a hurricane, and who Ian was lonely without for 4 months. Ian starts to regret the 2 times he’s visited Mickey, starts wishing he visited him more, if only he knew Mickey was knocked up. He _likes_ Mickey, likes him a lot. Ian stomps up the front steps and opens the door. Fiona and Carl are watching TV with Liam on Fiona’s lap. Fiona gives Ian a nod as he walks in, which he returns. 

Ian goes into his room, which is thankfully empty. Lip’s probably out, moping about Karen, his ex-girlfriend/fuck buddy who’s now with another guy. Ian undresses in the dark. It’s early, but he’s exhausted. He throws himself down on his bed and curls on his side. It’s too hot to sleep with covers. 

Fuck, he’s going to have a _baby._ He and Mickey. He finds himself smiling into his pillow and hoping the kid has Mickey’s gorgeous blue eyes.


	2. Summer Loving, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t fucking touch me,” Mickey snaps out, slapping Gallagher’s hand away because if he lets Gallagher continue, he doesn’t think he could let him stop.  
> 2.02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza. Two chapters in one day.

Mickey sleeps in until 11. He wakes up, feeling like he slept for 3 years. And he’s not nauseous, which is good. He takes a piss then tugs on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and makes his way to the kitchen. Everyone else in the house has left for their various errands of the day- meaning Mickey is alone. It’s nice. He grabs a glass, fills it up with water, and gulps it down. He’s pouring himself some cereal when he hears a knock at the door. 

He lets out a sigh and a “Fuck,” but goes to answer the door anyway. 

It’s Gallagher, standing on his front porch, bouncing lightly on his toes, his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Uh, I wanna talk to you,” Gallagher says, glancing around. “I need to ask you something.” 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you come inside,” he says, taking a step back. “Everyone else is out.” 

Gallagher smiles at that and steps over the threshold, and Mickey tries to ignore the swooping feeling in his stomach. 

“I’ve been thinking about… this,” he says. “And I’ve got a new idea.” 

“Oh yeah? So have I,” Mickey responds, moving into the kitchen to finally eat his goddamn cereal. 

“I was thinking that now, you’re probably going to need some extra cash, and it’s probably gonna be hard to find a job since you just got out of juvie and I could talk to Linda.” 

Mickey knows exactly where the fuck he’s going with this. He chews his cereal before saying, “I’m sorry, you want me to work at the place I got shot at?” 

“Redemption tab.”

“What’d I be doing?”

“Helping,” Gallagher says simply. 

“I ain’t cleaning up after people.”

“It’s a pretty clean store, Mickey.”

“What about security? You know, scary people like me who come into the store, trying to steal shit?” 

“Stealing’s been down since your shooting.”

“Hey, do whatever you want, man, it’s your idea. Anyway, now about what I was thinking.” He pauses to take a breath, because though he would never admit it, it was hard to come to terms with what his brain was telling him, and he knows, with the hopeless romantic that Gallagher is, it’ll be ever harder for him. “The South Side ain’t the place to have a carrier’s baby,” he continues. “So what if after I push this thing out of me, I leave it at the hospital? I’m sure some rich fuck will take pity on it and take it in, and that way it won’t die, and neither of us will get murdered.” 

Gallagher just stares at him. “You’re gonna give it up?” he says after a beat. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? I can’t raise a fucking kid here!” he hissed, lowering his voice even though no one else was around. “It’s either gonna be fucking killed by my dad, or have the world’s shittiest life.” 

“Remember what I told you last night?” Gallagher snaps back, taking a step towards Mickey. Mickey jerks back, surprised. “We’re in this fucking thing together, whether you like or not. This doesn’t just have to do with you. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ll help, and fuck you Mick, I’m helping you right now. Now do you want the job or not?” 

Gallagher finishes with a poke to Mickey’s chest. He’s taller than Mickey now, staring down at him, his brows furrowed. Fuck, he’s hot right now. Mickey can feel arousal shoot through his system. “Suck me off,” he demands.

“What?” 

“Suck me the fuck off right now, Gallagher,” Mickey repeats, shoving at the other boy. “Or leave.” 

Gallagher doesn’t waste any time dropping to his knees, unbuckling Mickey’s jeans and tugging them down just enough to take his length out. Mickey leans back against the table, his hands gripping the sides as Gallagher works him with that amazing, hot mouth of his. 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes out, his hands finding their way into Gallagher’s red hair, encouraging him more as Gallagher buries his nose into Mickey’s pubic bone. And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing Mickey’s ever seen, the way he doesn’t even gag. “Fuck, yeah, like that. Fuck, Firecrotch.” 

It’s too much, all too much, and Mickey can feel the tingling in his toes, and he warns Gallagher before he comes, but he isn’t interested and stays put while Mickey explodes inside his mouth. Gallagher stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and fucking _swallows_ , then takes his own length out and crowds into Mickey, his pants filling Mickey’s ears as he jerks himself off, grabbing a stray paper towel to hold in his other hand when he needs it. 

“Mick,” he pants out as he comes and Mickey feels like he could go again. He catches his release in the paper towel and wipes himself clean, then all of a sudden Mickey can feel Gallagher’s hand sliding up underneath his wife beater, touching his stomach. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Mickey snaps out, slapping Gallagher’s hand away because if he lets Gallagher continue, he doesn’t think he could let him stop. 

“I’ll tell Linda you’re interested then?” Ian asks, casually tossing the dirty paper towel into the trash, acting as if the last 2 minutes literally did not exist. 

“Yeah, what-the-fuck-ever, Firecrotch, just let me each my goddamn cereal.” He picks up the bowl and shoves another bite into his mouth. His cheerios are soggy now. 

And Gallagher looks almost sad as he nods and says, “See you later, I guess,” and sees himself out. 

Two days later, Mickey finds himself working at the same dump Gallagher does. It’s fucking boring work, but at least he’s getting paid. And he should be, if he has to put up with the fucking supposed-to-be-subtle glances Gallagher keeps sending his way while he sits at the register. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s fucking hot out, and Mickey’s flipping through one the shitty magazines the store has because he’s so fucking bored. 

“Hey Ian,” Linda says suddenly through the walkie-talkie as she sits up in the apartment over the store. _Fucking self-intitled bitch,_ Mickey thinks. _Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you get to sit on your ass all day. Hell, if that was the rule, I’d be watching fucking TV right now instead of standing in this shit hole._

“Bring me up a cheese sandwich, cheddar with hot mustard.” 

“You got it,” Gallagher says into the walkie-talkie, his voice laced with happiness. How that kid can be so fucking happy, Mickey has no idea. 

“And tell Mickey that if a packet of gum goes missing, he’s gone,” Linda continues. 

Mickey rolls his eyes and Gallagher sighs. It’s no question Linda hates Mickey’s guts. Whatever. He hates her right back. 

“Oh, and tell your good humor buddies that I’m keeping tabs on how many cases they’re moving, so don’t get cute.” _Jesus Christ, can she shut the fuck up already?_ Mickey glances behind him at the two kids who’ve spent a suspiciously long time in the store already, to see them loading their pockets with candy. “I know my inventory.” 

“Alright we’re taking six cases of beer Linda,” Gallagher’s older brother, Lip, says, glancing up at the security camera. He and the guy who works at the Alibai, Kyle, or whatever the fuck his name is, are running an ice cream truck for the summer, or so Gallagher says. 

The kids are still shoving their pockets full with candy, so Mickey says, “You two can put that back or I can crack your skulls on the pavement.” That does the trick. They throw the candy back on the shelves and run out of the store. Mickey smirks at their retreating backs. Pregnant or not, he’s still got his old charm. 

“Can you and uh, Sergeant Slaughter over here help me out with some cases of pop?” Lip says, pointing at him and Gallagher and then jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Yep,” Gallagher says, getting up and glancing up at Mickey, who pretends he doesn’t see him. Mickey just flips the magazine shut. 

“Hey,” he says to Lip, making his way to the back of the store where the door is open, letting the hot summer air in. “You want me to get you some blow? Uppers? Downers? Special K?” He’s not stupid- he knows what “ice cream truck” means in South Side Chicago, and he figures Lip never liked him, but now might be a good time to get on his good side, with his current… predicament. He grabs two boxes of Crush as Lip’s handing another box to Ken, who’s inside the window of the truck. 

“Uh, you know, thanks, Mickey, but um, we’re keeping it pretty old school, you know, beer, joints, cigarettes, that kinda thing. No one under 14.” 

So much for that plan. Lip and Mickey breeze past each other and Mickey hands the boxes he was carrying up to Kevin ( _that’s_ his name!). 

“That’s giving up a big market,” he says as Gallagher walks past him, lifting a large box in his hands, purposely brushing their shoulders together like the pussy he is. 

“Keeps my conscience clean,” Kyle says from the truck. 

Mickey grabs the last cases of beer just as Lip’s asking Gallagher to have Linda order more rocket pops. The redhead’s moving pretty fucking slowly, loading the beer onto the truck and looking at his brother at the same time, so Mickey’s stuck waiting behind him. Instead of staring at the newly developed muscles on Gallagher’s back, he glances up as Ken moves around in the truck, stashing the sodas away. 

Gallagher _finally_ moves out of the way, still talking to Lip. 

“And, um, keep it up with those geometry theorems, alright? We’ll hit ‘em tomorrow,” Lip says, handing his brother the money to pay for the sodas and beers. 

Mickey deposits the last of the boxes, and this time he can’t stop himself from staring at Gallagher as he tugs down the rope to shut the garage door in the back of the store. 

“Geometry theorems? For the army?” Mickey says when they’re alone in the store. Gallagher’s not serious about this West Point shit, is he? He makes his way back to the front of the store, well aware of Gallagher following behind him. 

“Artilleries, mortars, bomb trajectories. It’s all geometry,” he replies. Mickey picks up the magazine he left on the counter and puts it back in the rack. “I mean it’s confusing at first, but...” Mickey glances over his shoulder at Gallagher. He has no idea what any of those words mean, but fuck do they sound nice coming out of his mouth. Gallagher walks around the counter to put Lip’s money in the register and continues, “Put in enough hours, you study hard, you can learn anything.” 

“So not true,” a voice says from the back of the store and fuck, Mickey thought they were alone. It’s Gallagher’s father, Frank, who Mickey’s seen around the neighborhood a couple of times. He’s notorious for passing out drunk in the middle of the day in alleyways and getting pissed on by dogs. Mickey’s seen the dogs in action sometimes. He also knows that Gallagher isn’t close to his father; he’s complained about him a few times when they were alone. 

“Sometimes effort does not enhance ability,” Frank says, walking towards the register, carrying random groceries, that actually isn’t beer for once, while Ian gets out bread, cheese, and mustard to make the sandwich for Linda. “Study if you must, but if it don’t stick, move on, focus on something you’re good at.” 

Gallagher looks a little pissed as he rings Frank up, and holy shit, did Frank did call his own kid stupid? 

“Put this on Dottie Coronis’s account,” Frank says, shoving the items into a bag.

Gallagher rolls his eyes. “We don’t have accounts Frank.” 

“I’m just the errand boy. Gave my last cash to Fiona. Dottie’s dying- you know where her house is.” He obviously just doesn’t want to pay, and gestures off into the distance. Mickey doesn’t know who the fuck this chick in, but he knows Frank’s just using her. 

“19.06,” Gallagher says simply and leans on his elbows. 

“She’s in trouble,” Frank protests. “She’s gonna die next week. When that happens, take it out of her estate.” 

He turns to leave, and Mickey meets him face-to-face. “Hey, Frank,” he says, giving him a smile. He hates how this man treats Gallagher- his own fucking son, for Christ’s sake. “Why don’t you check your pockets again? Maybe you overlooked something.”

Frank checks him over. “You work here now?”

“Trial basis,” he says simply. 

Frank’s tiny brain seems to be working itself over. He quirks his eyebrows in the same way Gallagher does and says, “You know what, Mick? You may… be…” He plunges a hand into his pocket and pulls out a $20 bill. “Look at that.” He turns and slaps the bill down on the counter in front of Gallagher. “That should cover it. Hey, have a great sabbatical from your incarceration,” he adds to Mickey, walking around him to leave. 

Mickey clenches his fist, not at the last comment, but the way Frank called him “Mick.” Only Gallagher’s called him that. 

“Can't believe that sleaze is your dad,” he says, grabbing another magazine, then turning to the other boy and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

Gallagher just chuckles and puts the bill away in the register. Mickey starts flipping through the magazine. 

“How’re you feeling today?” Gallagher asks seriously. 

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Jesus, are you going to ask me that question every day? I don’t know what you expect me to say. I feel like shit, Gallagher. And it’s your fucking fault.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.” 

Mickey glances up at Gallagher, sees his little smirk and resumes his reading. He’s not letting the redhead get to him today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are well appreciated!


	3. I'll Light a Candle for You Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey never expected it to look so human, when he can’t even feel it yet. He can see its head and its stomach and fuck- is that its arm?  
> 2.03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles correspond the episode they take place in!  
> (Though this chapter covers 2x03 and 2x04.)

Ian’s been distracted all morning. He’s off today, thankfully, but he can’t stop thinking about Mickey and their… situation. After Mickey told him he was knocked up three days ago, Ian couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then 2 days ago, Mickey told him he was going to drop it off at the hospital. 

_It’s not just_ his _kid,_ Ian seethes. _It’s mine too. If I want, why can’t he just let me have it?_

He decides to take his frustration out on the pull-up bar he installed in the doorway of his bedroom during spring. He wanted to start bulking up for West Point. He’s up to 24 when Carl wanders up the stairs and decides to use him as a punching bag. 

“Ow,” Ian complains. “Dude, stop.” 

“It’s the best way to get six-pack abs,” Carl responds. “Saw it on a YouTube video.” Ian stops long enough to playfully shove at Carl’s head before returning to his workout. Unfortunately, Carl picks up his punches again.

“Hey, fuckwad,” Lip says, coming up the back stairs from wherever the fuck he went earlier. 

“Dickhead,” Carl bites back. 

“What are you doing?”

Ian gives up and steps to the side, letting Lip into their room. 

“Helping Ian train,” Carl says. Ian pats him on the shoulder anyway. The kid has good intentions, though he maybe goes about the wrong way of delivering them. 

“Yo, uh, I was at the lab, talking to this army guy from the Pentagon, he’s a colonel or something.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian says, getting down on the floor and starting to do sit-ups. Without even being asked, Carl stands in front of him, holding out his hands for Ian to punch. 

“Yeah. Thought he could tell us a little bit more about West Point- he was a student there,” Lip says, taking a seat on Ian’s bed. 

“They’re called cadets,” Ian says, punching Carl’s hands. He can probably convince Mickey to move in with him, if he shows him that Gallaghers are nothing like Milkoviches. Then maybe when Mickey sees that their kid could have a stable home, he wouldn’t want to abandon it at the hospital. 

At that moment, Debbie clomps up the stairs, singing along loudly to a song that’s probably blaring through her headphones, something about pain and burning. Ian stops doing sit-ups to let her pass into the bathroom. She shoves at Carl and shuts the door, but not before letting out, “I will twist the knife and leave my aching heeeaaart!” 

“What’s with Debs?” Lip asks, pointing at the spot she was just at. 

“Obsessed with death,” Carl responds and that’s really all they need to know. Ian goes back to doing his sit-ups. 

“Anyway, I thought this guy might be a good lead,” Lip continues. 

“I don’t know,” Ian replies. “I took that practice Trig test today.” He stops and looks back at Lip. “Only got a 73.”

“5 points higher than last time,” Lip says with enthusiasm. It probably could’ve been higher, Ian thinks, if he hadn’t been so focused on Mickey and his _fucking kid._

“I cheated,” Ian states, returning to the pull-up bar. He did. He was supposed to finish the test in under 40 minutes, and with his mind wrapped up on Mickey he found it extremely hard to concentrate. 

“Why do you wanna go into the army anyway?” Carl asks, watching Ian. “You’re just gonna get shot through the butthole in battle.” 

“Hey, twatbag,” Lip snaps. “The only reason you’re not in summer school is because they wouldn’t have you.” 

Carl crosses his arms and Ian tries to shut them out. He’s always wanted to go to the army. He’s always like the idea of serving his country, making them proud of him. He also feels like it’s the only thing he can do- he’s not going to go places if he’s the kid from the South Side who got a 73 on a test _after_ cheating. And now that Mickey’s going to have his kid, he feels like the payoffs would outweigh the fact that he _could_ get shot in the butthole. 

***

Mickey’s on a run for his dad, in some fancy neighborhood where everyone is out walking their fucking dogs. He’s walking back, feeling pretty good about the deal he made. The guy didn’t try to up the price of the Molly, like so many others would’ve. He looked pretty desperate for money. Good thing Mickey forgot his gun. 

He sees one of those mobile clinic vans, one of the things rich people do for poor people to feel self-righteous. Normally, he wouldn’t give it another thought, but this is a big ass white truck with big letters on the side that spell out WOMEN’S MOBILE CLINIC, with pictures of smiling women all around them, then in smaller letters underneath, LAB GRADE PREGNANCY TESTS AND ULTRASOUND SCREENING: COMPLIMENTARY SERVICES and he just freezes. It’s almost like he’s observing himself out of his own body as he turns and gets in line behind two other women, hands in his pockets, trying to look unsuspicious. The women in front of him glance at him and make faces, but they don’t do anything to try and stop him. 

He waits nearly 10 minutes until he’s at the front of the line, pushing pebbles around on the ground with his shoe.

“Next!” someone calls from the inside and he steps into the truck, blinking as he eyes adjust to the white lights. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” some Asian lady says, wearing a fucking lab coat, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She looks rich. “This is a women’s clinic.” 

“Um… don’t you do ultrasounds?” he mumbles out.

“Well, yes, but-”

“Could I get one?” he interrupts her. “Please?” Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever used that word before. Something clicks in her brain and she nods, guestering to the back of the truck. 

“Right this way,” she says. Mickey follows her to the back, passing a door that’s probably a bathroom. The back of the truck is set apart by a curtain, with a door that leads out, an examination table, a stool for the doctor, a counter with a sink, and the ultrasound machine. 

“Take a seat,” the doctor says, pointing at the examination table.

Mickey swallows and settles himself down on it. It’s rather cold. The doctor rummages in the counter’s drawers, then pulls out a little blue bottle. 

“How far along are you?” she asks. 

“Um, at least 4 months, I think,” he responds, fidgeting a bit. It’s weird to talk about with just Gallagher, but it’s a thousand times more weirder to talk about it with a complete stranger. 

But she just gives him a smile and asks him to lift up his shirt. He does, feeling a little bit self-conscious. He’s grown more, although only a tiny bit- the waistband of his jeans have been feeling rather tight today. She grabs the machine’s wand and squeezes some of the gel in the bottle onto the end, then lowers it over Mickey’s stomach. 

“Ready? This might feel a tad bit cold.” 

Mickey nods, because what the fuck else can he say? And it is kind of cold, as the doctor presses the wand to his lower stomach. There’s a tense moment where she doesn’t say anything, just moves the wand over his stomach and squints at the screen, which is turned away from him. Then she smiles and moves the screen so he can see it. 

“There’s your baby,” she says happily, and _fuck,_ there it is. 

Mickey never expected it to look so _human,_ when he can’t even feel it yet. He can see its head and its stomach and fuck- is that its arm?

“Holy shit,” he breaths out, feeling tears prick at his eyes, because that’s his fucking _baby._

The doctor presses some more buttons and says, “She’s about 17 weeks old, 5 ⅛ inches.” 

Mickey stares at the screen, staring at the tiny baby that’s someone _inside of him-_ that Gallagher put _inside of him._ “She?” he whispers. 

“Yup. It’s a girl,” the doctor replies. “Would you like to hear her heartbeat?”

Mickey nods dumbly. The doctor presses a few more buttons, and slow steady whooshing fills the room. 

“Strong and steady,” she says, as Mickey brings a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Your due date is around November 20th.” 

“Okay,” he manages out. The doctor presses another button, and the heartbeat disappears. Mickey misses it.  
“Everything looks fine, I don’t see any future complications, which is good, seeing as male pregnancies are high-risk.” Mickey can’t take his eyes away from the monitor, displaying his daughter. His fucking _daughter._ “Do you want a picture?” the doctor asks, humor in her voice. 

“Sure,” Mickey says quietly. “Actually- could you print out two?”

“Of course,” she responds, pressing some more buttons on the ultrasound machine. Then she takes the wand away, and his baby disappears. She hands Mickey a paper towel to wipe his stomach with while she goes to the front of the truck, where the printer is, and Mickey lets his hands linger at his stomach, before yanking his shirt down before she comes back. 

She hands him two small pieces of paper, both inked with the image of his daughter forever, and sees him out. He manages a weak “thank you,” tripping over his feet before he’s blinking in the harsh sunlight. He shoves the ultrasounds in his pocket and prays that he didn’t take too long. 

***

“Did you know that the trigonometric moment problem has infinitely many solutions if the toplex matrix A is invertible?” Ian says. He’s on his bed, studying for the West Point test. It’s a lot fucking harder than he originally thought. 

“Yeah,” Lip replies, though he’s not listening. He’s on his own bed, looking through papers of Karen’s new boyfriend/fiancée/whatever. He’s been obsessed about him for a few days now. Ian doesn’t even know why. Karen’s a terrible person; why does Lip like her so much? “Nothing but parking tickets. This Jody-guy-mixed-vanilla tastes like fucking Thai spice.” 

Ian glances up at his brother. “You ran a background check?” 

“Tony,” Lip says. Ah, of course. The cop who’s helped them out with Frank before and then fucked their sister. “You know, the only remotely interesting thing is a restraining order-” Lip jumps off his loft bed and moves over to Ian- “against his ex-girlfriend because she threw a camera at him. He’s fucking ridiculous, this guy!” 

Ian shut the book he was reading. Probably a waste of time, anyway. “You’re like Liam when someone touches one of his toys,” he jokes. 

“If I don’t find any dirt, I’ll have to make some,” Lip says. Ian grabs a cigarette and lights it just as Fiona knocks on the door. 

“You guys think you could hang out at some point Saturday night? Deb’s sleepover, help fill out the guest list?” she asks, looking stressed about something. But what isn’t she stressed about? 

“Sure,” Ian sighs. Because he totally was not thinking about trying to catch Mickey Saturday night. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring some strippers and a hookah pipe,” Lip says. Fiona just glares at him. “I’m kidding,” he adds, then “Thought it was funny,” after Fiona leaves. Ian chuckles at his sister’s retreating back and picks up his book again. 

***

Thank god Terry’s too stupid to notice how late he was, Mickey thinks later after he’d delivered the molly to his dad. He hid away in his room for a while, just staring down at the ultrasound, trying to memorize his daughter’s face. He doesn’t know why he asked for two. Well, he actually does know why, if he’s being honest with himself. One of them is for Gallagher’s. He keeps thinking about Gallagher’s stupid happy face when he was walking him home at night after Mickey told him he was knocked up. Gallagher clearly wants _this,_ for some reason. After an hour or so, he can feel himself getting antsy, and since he can’t smoke anymore, he stashes the ultrasounds in his underwear drawer, grabs his glock, and makes his way to his favorite targeting spot, underneath the rail tracks right by his house. He and his brothers had set up cardboard drawings of Iraqi terrorists a while ago, and Mickey is pleasantly surprised to learn that he hasn’t lost his aim after 4 months in juvie. 

He’s alone for a while, and he likes that, until he can see out of the corner of his eye Frank Gallagher ambling over. Great, what the fuck does he want now? 

“Gearing up for bank robbery season?” Frank shouts over the roar of the train overhead, walking close, and Mickey is glad he thought to throw his hoodie on before he left. 

“Don’t have any weapons, Frank,” he responds. “Saw a couple of spray cans by the liquor store you can huff.” He moves around the older man, going to reload with a new clip. 

“Why do you think I want some?” Frank says. 

“You’re breathing,” Mickey says simply, reaching for the water bottle he took with him and taking a sip. 

“Hoping to gank a couple of rounds of ammo from you.” 

Mickey raises his eyebrows at that. He never thought Frank would use a gun- he does drugs and is passed out drunk more than he’s awake, sure, but Frank Gallagher with a gun? 

“Who ya hunting?” Mickey asks, glancing at Frank. 

“I’m trying to scare off a neighborhood dog,” he replies. 

“Yeah? Anybody I know?” He sets his water down, and then when he stands up, Frank’s taking the magazine out of a- “Fucking Luger? That’s sweet, man.” He’s always liked Lugers- always wanted to try one out for himself, but anyone with a Luger tends to hold onto it very tightly. Maybe he can get Gallagher to steal this one for him. 

“Was my father’s.”

“Hey, I don’t think they make ammo for that anymore,” Mickey says, gesturing to the gun. _He_ certainly doesn’t have any ammo for a Luger. 

“Ah, c’mon, just one cap?” Frank says, leaning down and taking a bullet from him anyway. 

“What do you mean, one cap?” Mickey echoes. “Slugs are specific to each gun, Frank, it’s not a fucking mix-and-match.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Frank mumbles, walking away, trying to fit the bullet in his Luger. 

“Guns ain't Garanimals,” Mickey shouts after him, raising his gun, readying to take another shot. 

“Look at that! Perfect fit!” Frank calls over his shoulder. 

Mickey shakes his head and fires a few shots and prays to whatever god is out there that his daughter doesn’t inherit Frank’s shitty brain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have no idea what Mickey said in the third line from the bottom. The closed captions we're very helpful on the YouTube video I was watching, so I just took a wild stab.


	4. A Beautiful Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let her go, man,” Ian says. He and Mickey might not be the perfect example of a relationship, but at least they don’t sleep with each other’s dads. Lip stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, not wanting to talk about it. Well, Ian’s going to make him talk about it.   
> 2.04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian hates Karen, and so do I.
> 
> I also just realized that in the first chapter, in the cover art, I accidentally put season 1 instead of season 2 but I'm too lazy to change it, so oh well.

Ian’s up in his room, still pouring over the West Point test book. He’s going to fucking make it in, whether it kills him or not. Quite literally, he supposes. He’s on the chemistry section, and none of it is making any fucking sense to him, when he hears Fiona shout up the stairs that someone’s at the door for him. 

He frowns, but sets his book aside and makes his way to the stairs. Debbie’s party isn’t until tomorrow night; that’s when Mandy’s coming over. But when he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs, the person in the living room certainly isn’t Mandy. 

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” 

“I need to talk to you, Gallagher,” Mickey bites out. “In private. I promised this deal would be quiet.” 

“Oh, right.” Ian glances over at Fiona, who’s watching him with raised eyebrows. “C’mon, I guess.” 

He knows he hasn’t bought anything off of Mickey, so it’s got to just be Mickey trying to cover up whatever feelings are brimming underneath his skin. Ian knows they’re there, but Mickey just doesn't want to let them out. He’s seen the look in his eyes after they fuck, but then Mickey will physically push him away. 

Ian leads Mickey to his room, then shoos Carl out of it. 

“What’s up?” he asks, turning to Mickey and shutting the door once they’re alone. Mickey all of a sudden looks nervous, shuffling his feet and glancing down at the floor. 

“I- uh, got you something.” Then he reaches into his pocket and he pulls out a small piece of paper, thrusting it in Ian’s direction. Confused, Ian takes it. It’s blank. He flips it over and his heart nearly stops. 

It’s an ultrasound, a black-and-gray picture of something clearly a baby. He can see the baby’s head against a stark black background, its nose and lips already formed. 

“Holy fuck,” he breaths out and glances up at Mickey. 

“I got it at one of those mobile clinic things rich people do to help us poor shits,” the other boy says. “17 weeks, due date’s right before Thanksgiving.”

Ian glances back down at the picture of _his kid, fuck._

“It’s a girl,” Mickey says softly. Ian stares at him again, his eyes stinging with tears. He takes a step towards Mickey. 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out, because Mickey looks so _good_ right now. 

Mickey stares back, his gaze unwavering. And then suddenly, his lips are pressing against Ian’s. His mouth is softer than Ian thought it would be, his lips slightly chapped. He’s kissing _Mickey._ Ian slides a hand up and tangles his fingers in the short baby hairs on the back of Mickey’s neck and tilts his head slightly, making the angle deeper.

Mickey’s hand brushes against his shoulders, uncertain, but then finds its way to cup Ian’s cheek. Ian brings his other hand up to settle itself on Mickey’s waist, and that’s when he snaps. Ian suddenly finds himself stumbling back, bumping into his bed. 

“The fuck?” he snaps at Mickey. And then he gets mad. Because of all the times he and Mickey have talked, have seen each other, have fucked, Mickey is always reserved. And Ian has seen the look in his eyes, he _knows_ , but Mickey still refuses to admit things out loud. Why can’t he just let down his walls, just this once? 

“It’s just us, alone, here, with a picture of fucking daughter!” he hissed out. “Your dad isn’t here, no one else can see us, why can’t you be yourself for once? I know you’re in there- I’ve seen you before!” 

Mickey stares at Ian. 

A moment passes, then another one, then another one. 

Then Mickey moves forward, grabbing Ian’s face and pulling him down again. Ian kisses him like they won’t be alive tomorrow because who knows? maybe they won’t be. His hands find Mickey’s waist again, and this time, Mickey doesn’t push him off. Ian kisses him until his light headed then pulls away and rests their foreheads together. Mickey’s breathing heavily, his eyes shut and he looks so beautiful right now. 

Ian slides his hands forward, slowly, but the other boy doesn’t move away. When Ian’s fingertips brush over the bottom of Mickey’s shirt, Mickey opens his eyes and stares right into Ian’s. Holding his breath, Ian runs his hands up underneath Mickey’s shirt, gently touching his lower stomach. And, _oh._

He can feel the world’s smallest bump, more of a hardness, more than anything, but it’s still _there,_ a physical reminder of what they’ve made, other than a picture. He presses his palm flat against Mickey’s lower stomach, just holding his hand there as he tries to memorize the bump. 

“We can’t keep her,” Mickey breathes out. 

“Maybe I could,” Ian whispers back. “I won’t tell anyone where I got her, please, just don’t leave her at some dirty hospital.” 

Mickey leans his head back to stare at Ian’s face fully. “You really fucking want this.” 

“Of course I want this,” he responds. “Don’t you?” 

There’s a beat, then Mickey’s face seems to soften and he leans into Ian again. “ I do. But I can’t.”

“I know, but _I_ can. Please. Let me take her. My family isn’t like yours, she’ll have a good life here, and you’ll get to see her sometime.” 

“Don’t you get it?” Mickey whispers. “That’d be the hardest thing. Because I’d see her, and yet I couldn’t have her.” He shakes his head. “If you keep her, I’ll have to leave, Ian.” 

Ian can’t breathe. That’s the first time Mickey’s said his name. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

Mickey swallows but doesn’t say anything. He takes a step back and fixes his shirt. Ian’s hand is cold. Mickey picks up the ultrasound that fell to the floor and presses it into his hand.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, giving Ian a rare small smile. 

As Mickey sees himself out, Ian stares one more time at his daughter and then places her underneath his pillow. 

Lip calls him down later to set up the old DVD player for Debbie’s party. Ian grabs two beers from the fridge and the system from the basement. He makes his way back to Lip saying, “Linda doesn't know it yet, but she’s letting me borrow her kids’ Kinect for Debs’ party.” He knows Linda will let him have it. She’s developed a soft spot for him. 

“Sweet,” Lip says, taking the beer Ian hands him, then turns back to the dancers on the screen. 

Ian stares at it too. “What are you watching?” 

“Some shit on the learning channel about pole dancers,” Lip replies, then sets his beer down and grabs the DVD player. 

“Speaking of hookers, how’s Karen?” Ian asks, wondering if Lip really managed to make up shit about Jody. 

“Fuck off,” Lip chuckles. “Still working on operation Chody. Got a couple of ideas on how to lose the guy.”

“Why don’t we just kill him?” It seems easier. 

“So not worth the time in jail, dude.” Lip stands up with the DVD player and makes his way around to the back of the TV. “I was thinking more along the lines of planting naked photos of Liam on his laptop.” 

“Ooh, good one.” 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Lip replies. Ian grabs a wire from the TV and plugs it into the machine. “Now, seriously this does nothing for you?” Lip asks, pointing at the screen where some woman is grabbing the base of the pole and holding herself upside down, wrapping her legs around the top, letting go and sliding down. 

Ian studies it, and maybe it would be hot if Mickey could do that, but Mickey doesn’t have enormous tits and fake blonde hair and 6-inch heels. Not to mention he’s also carrying Ian’s daughter. “Uh, still gay.” 

“Still gay,” Lip confirms. 

Ian retreats to his room afterwards to do more West Point studying and to try and take his mind off the ultrasound underneath his pillow that he can’t help but pull out every 5 minutes and stare at. Lip, of course, can’t leave him alone and walks into their room with a stack of DVDs, calling Ian a 12-year-old girl and asking him which one they should watch at Debbie’s party. 

Ian bristles internally as Lip sits on his bed, too close to his daughter’s picture, but he picks a movie anyway. “ _Nightmare on Elm Street_. Remake’s still scary as shit.” 

He goes back to his books as Carl comes in, reporting, “Karen got ready for work with the drapes open, which was awesome. Then she stopped for some cigarettes and then she went straight to work at the movies. Be there ‘till 8, last show gets out at like one o’clock, plus clean up.” He holds his hands out, and Lip slaps some bills into them. 

“Thanks, bud,” he says. 

“You got Carl following her around now,” Ian says. Holy shit. Lip’s a little obsessed, isn’t he? He tries to ignore Carl collapsing onto his pillow. “Can’t believe you’re still cock-blocking Karen.”

“She has no cock on my block.”

“Let her go, man,” Ian says. He and Mickey might not be the perfect example of a relationship, but at least they don’t sleep with each other’s dads. Lip stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, not wanting to talk about it. Well, Ian’s going to make him talk about it. 

“What do you want, huh? You want to marry her? Be with her forever?” 

Lip shrugs off his shirt. “I’m just looking out for her, she’s my best friend.” 

“No, _I’m_ your best friend. She’s your fuckbuddy.” 

Lip turns around. “No, you’re my brother who should shut the fuck up.” 

“Friends usually want what’s best for each other,” Ian tries. “This could be the best thing for Karen.”

“Oh, so now you know what’s best for everyone? The kid who wants to die for his country that thinks he’s one of God’s mistakes?” 

“The shrink at school says I’m one of God’s mistakes,” Carl says. 

“The girl has ‘whore’ tattooed on her arm,” Ian states. Does Lip really not see how fucking horrible she is? “She put my dick in her mouth because you asked her to.” 

“What?!” Carl shouts from Ian’s bed. 

“You need to shut the fuck up,” Lip snaps, pointing a finger in Ian’s face. 

Ian’s always hated Karen- even before Lip convinced her to suck him off to test if he really was gay (he didn’t pass; Lip believed him). Out of the 2 times Lip’s been in holding, one of them was Karen’s fault. He always acts so crazy around her, doing stupid shit. He got into hard drugs with her when he was 14, though Fiona screamed it out of him quickly. Ian also hates the way Karen looks, like she knows she can make any guy do her bidding. And she can (all the straight guys, at least). 

“So, what? You get her to dump the guy, stick around for when Carl has his first woody, so she can work him too?” 

Lip grabs Ian and shoves him away, his face twisting in anger. Ian stumbles back and watches him stomp off to the shower. 

“I already had my first woody. In history class, talking about how Marie Antoinette’s head got chopped off,” Carl puts in. 

Ian glances over at him and sighs. If Lip wants to get involved in Karen fucking Jackson again and have his life ruined and his heart broken a second time, that’s not Ian’s business, right? 

***

When Mickey gets back home, he makes his way to his room and locks the door, bending over his bed as he jerks himself off in quick motions, coming shortly into a tissue. He throws it away in the trash and runs his hands down his face. 

He kissed Gallagher. 

He _kissed_ Gallagher. 

He kissed _Gallagher._

And he liked it. 

He liked the feeling of Gallagher’s lips against his, tilting the right way because, fuck, the

kid knows how to kiss. He liked the feel of Gallagher’s hands on his waist, though he pushed him away at first, because of the tingles he felt all over his skin. He liked it when Gallagher touched his stomach, pressed his palm against it, and then told Mickey he would take the baby. 

Mickey squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his palms into his eyeballs. Fuck, Gallagher looked so _desperate_ , _begging_ Mickey not to leave their daughter. But there’s nothing else Mickey can do. He suppose he could hand her over to Gallagher, but then he knows that Terry would find out somehow, and he would be dead. No, leaving her at the hospital is the best option. That way some rich couple who hasn’t been able to get pregnant for 10 years can have a child, and his daughter can have a good life. Maybe she would grow up on the North Side, not knowing what cigarettes taste like, not knowing the feeling you get when you run from the cops. 

Yeah, that’s what he’s going to do. She’d have a shitty life here. And it’s not like he’d be a good father anyway- ( _fuck,_ he’s going to be a father) not like he has the best role model. Or Gallagher either, for that matter. He itches for a cigarette or a beer, but he grabs neither and just sits at the edge of his bed, staring at nothing in particular. 

***

He can’t focus on the movie; not that he wants to anyway- he’s already seen _Nightmare on Elm Street_. He’s mainly staying at Debbie’s party to make sure that everything doesn’t completely go to shit, since Fiona’s out working. Lip and Mandy have already snuck out, Lip muttering something about “Chody,” so Ian can only assume Mandy’s going to try and seduce the guy. He rolls his eyes that Mandy would agree to do something like that. 

During the time she was there, she didn’t stare at him weirdly or try to get his attention or drag him off to a place to talk, so Ian guesses that Mickey hasn’t told her yet. Which means only Ian knows. It’s really their secret. 

As a girl is screaming and thrashing in her bed on the screen, Ian’s trying to memorize the feel of Mickey’s skin against his, of that tiny perfect almost-bump he felt. Mickey said he wanted their daughter, he _said it._ But he also said he can’t keep her. Realistically, Ian knows he’s right. Mickey’s dad would kill all 3 of them if he found out. Ian doesn’t understand why Mickey can’t just let Ian keep the baby. He would have to hide from his dad until after the birth, sure, but then he would still be able to see her. 

Ian runs a hand down his face. He wishes life were so much easier. He feels like the girl in the movie, screaming and kicking, but getting no relief. 

The next day it’s hot, and they invite V and Kev over, their next-door neighbors, to swim in their pool. They chicken fight with Debbie and Lip, and Debbie goes down, which leads to V screaming, “I don’t play! I don’t play!”, spreading her arms out wide. Fiona brings her maybe-boyfriend, Adam over and Kev playfully splashes water on him, and Lip’s talking to him again, and he and Carl are having a squirt-gun fight, and he kissed Mickey yesterday, and everything seems fine. 

Then when Lip gets out of the pool to towel off, Karen shows up and knees Lip in the 

balls. 

“Why the FUCK was Mandy Milkovich at MY house, trying to screw Jody?” she screams. “He turned her down and told me what happened.” 

“Yeah, cause he’s a fucking pussy,” Lip replies, hunched over on the ground. 

“Fuck you!” Karen kicks Lip again. 

“Hey! Hey!” Fiona runs in between them, holding her arms out like she’s going to keep Karen at bay, and Ian gets out of the pool as well, good thing too, because Karen kicks Lip a third time.

“Stay the fuck away from me! Stay the fuck away from Jody!” 

Ian grabs Karen’s shoulders and wrestles her back. She may not look it, but she’s kind of strong. 

“And stay the fuck away from this baby!” 

She rips herself out of Ian’s grasp and he lets her go. Karen lets out a “humph,” stares around at everyone, and then leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so much tea in one chapter.  
> First the ultrasound, then the kiss, and now Karen's pregnant too?


	5. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She doesn’t hate you, you know,” Lip adds as Ian’s leaving. “She’s looking out for you. And she’s kind of right. You’re 16- you’re not even close to finishing school. You can’t take care of a kid.”   
> 2.05

Lip was in shock for the rest of the day. He retreated to his room and stayed there, not even coming down for dinner. Fiona leaves him be. Though the baby could be anyone’s, the girl he slept with multiple times still is pregnant. After _that_ eventful day, she busies herself with laundry, taking Debbie’s and hers load down after she’s eaten breakfast. 

But when she goes into the kitchen, the machine is already running. 

“Carl’s boarder. Put in a load a couple of minutes ago,” Ian says as he makes his way to the table with chips. Shit, that prostitute Carl’s renting Frank’s room out to.

Fiona sighs and sets the laundry basket down. “Lip up?” she asks him, but he just shakes his head. Fiona and Debbie glance at each other and Fiona jerks her head up. Debbie gets the message and goes upstairs to try and convince Lip to get up. She’s always been good at helping people get out of their heads- hell, she’s helped Fiona more times than she can count. 

It works, because when Fiona’s setting out the dress to wear to the ritzy wedding she and Adam got invited to, he makes his way past her room. 

“Hey, finally up,” she says. “Smoke?” 

“Yup,” Lip says and moves into her room, already taking out a cigarette. 

“You know there’s a prostitute in Frank’s room.” 

“Double-Bag-Bev. Needed a place to stay, win-win,” Lip replies. 

“Yeah, as long as you can’t catch AIDS from a washing machine.” She finishes tying the belt on her dress and dusts it off. 

“They got drugs for that now. It’s like a cold,” says Lip, handing out the cigarette for Fiona. She takes it. 

“She single-handedly catapulted Carl into puberty.” She moves over the window. 

“Yeah, well at least she’s not bringing her work home, right?”

“She better not. And no more washing machine freebies. If she charges by the load, so can we.” 

Lip chuckles and moves to sit on Fiona’s bed next to her. He seems better this morning. Maybe he needed to sleep it through. 

“Talk to Karen?” Fiona asks as he settles. 

“Why would I?” Fiona frowns at him. “Look, it could be anyone’s kid,” he continues. “Uh, Owen Linquest, the guy on Wolcott with the lazy eye and the Mustang. Frank.”

“You use protection?” she asks. 

“She’s on the pill,” Lip states, taking the cigarette she offers him. 

“Yeah, so she said. How many times you sleep with her?”

“What, you keep count?” Lip snarks, blowing smoke her way. 

“Ball park. How many times a week?”

He thinks about it for a moment before answering “6-7?”

“Yeah for what? Like 8 months? That’s-”

“‘Round 224,” Lip finishes for her. 

“And what about other guys? 10 sound about right? That’s… 20-to-1 odds. You’re the one who takes book, you like those odds?”

“If you’re gonna yell at me, go ahead.” He just sounds defeated, tired.

Fiona stares at him, then shakes her head. “I’m not your mother,” she says, because she’s fucking _not._ Then she smacks him in the head. He’s fucking stupid, knocking up a girl like that! He’s still in school, still just a kid! She stares at him for longer. “So what are you gonna do?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“I’m not taking care of another kid,” Fiona states. She’s seen this before in Monica- she fucks up, has another baby, realizes she can’t take care of it, then dumps it on Fiona and leaves. She knows Lip isn’t Monica, but she can’t help the feeling that that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He doesn’t say anything else, so she gets up to gather Ian and Carl’s laundry before she can get ready for the wedding- that prostitute’s load has put a stop to things. 

She leaves Lip on her bed and makes her way to the big bedroom, sighing when she sees the state of Ian’s side. He’s got clothes spread out all over his bed, like he was trying on a bunch of clothes before he settled on his outfit he’s wearing now. She picks them up, sniffing each one to see if they’re dirty or clean- the dirty ones she tosses in a pile near the door. He hasn’t even made his bed yet- he said he was going out all day today. What is he in such a hurry to go to? Maybe he’s met a boy. Fiona straightens his blankets. That’d be good- he hasn’t seen anyone since that married man he worked for (at least, according to Lip). And Mandy Milkovich doesn’t count- they’re in a fake relationship. 

Fiona goes to plump up his pillows and she sees something underneath one. Praying that it isn’t porn, she lifts the pillow up to reveal- 

“Holy fuck,” she says aloud. “Holy fuck!”

She grabs the piece of paper and is tearing down the hall, down the stairs. “Ian!” she shouts. He’s still eating his chips on the table, and looks up, surprised. “What the fuck is this?” she waves the paper in front of his eyes, which grow wide. 

An ultrasound. 

She found a fucking ultrasound underneath his pillow, and the pieces click in her brain. Yesterday, Karen revealed she was pregnant. Ian was the one to hold her back from hurting Lip more. Today, Fiona finds an ultrasound underneath his pillow. 

“What the fuck?!” she shouts. 

“Fiona-” he tries, but she doesn’t want to hear his excuses. 

“Ian Clayton Gallagher, you better fucking tell me it’s not Karen!” 

“What’s going on?” Lip asks, coming down the stairs. Fiona shoves the ultrasound in his hands. 

“Look what I found underneath his pillow!”

Lip stares at it, then up at Ian. All of a sudden, he’s lunging towards his brother, wrapping his hands around his neck. 

“Lip!” Fiona protests. 

“You piece of shit! After all that shit you said about her! Why the fuck do you have her ultrasound, huh?” 

Fiona claws at Lip’s shoulders, pulling him off Ian. 

“It’s not Karen’s!” Ian shouts, his eyes wide as he holds his hands out against Lip. “It’s not Karen’s.”

“Then who the fuck did you knock up, huh? I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about you doing this shit! I thought you were gay!” 

Ian swallows hard, staring from Lip to Fiona. “I am,” he whispers. 

“Then whose fucking ultrasound is that!” Lip shouts. 

Ian breathes hard, then glances down at his fingers. Fiona stares at him. Maybe, maybe it was Mandy’s, or another one of his friend’s. Maybe it’s not even his. 

“Mickey Milkovich’s,” he whispers out, barely audible. 

“Mickey Milkovich?” Fiona repeats, letting out a laugh. _Fine, don’t tell your sister._ “You really expect me to believe you knocked Mickey Milkovich up?”

“Holy fuck,” Lip says, staring at Ian. Ian’s not laughing, still staring down at his hands. “He’s a carrier?”

Fiona stares at Lip, surprised. “What, you believe that?” 

“I mean, they’ve been fucking for what, 5 months now?”

Ian nods. Fiona finds it hard to believe that _Mickey fucking Milkovich,_ who robs stores and sells weed and beats up girls and gays for fun is knocked up? And with Ian’s kid, no less? 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me when you first found about this shit?” she demands. 

“I mean, I only found out like 2 weeks ago,” Ian murmurs out. 

“And he’s going to get an abortion, right?” 

Ian shrugs in a way that clearly means Mickey’s going to continue with the pregnancy. 

“What the fuck, Ian?! You’re 16 years old! You really think you can have a baby? I told Lip and now I’m telling you, I’m not taking care of another kid!” 

“Well you don’t have to!” Ian shouts back. “Because Mickey wants to give her away! He wants to drop her off at the hospital like she’s a fucking FedEx package, okay? You don’t have to worry about shit!” 

Well, that’s solved then. Fiona has no clue why Mickey’s going through with the pregnancy in the first place, but at least he’s giving the baby up after. 

“Then it’s settled,” Fiona says and throws the ultrasound at him. It flutters in the air and lands on the floor. “Looks like the only kid I’ll have to worry about it yours,” she adds, pointing at Lip before stomping up the stairs to get ready for the wedding. 

***

Lip sinks down into the chair next to Ian. He picks up the ultrasound Fiona threw on the floor and hands it to his brother. So, Ian knocked someone up too. He never thought he’d the day, since Ian was most definitely 100% gay, but, here they were. 

“She?” he asks after a moment of silence. 

“It’s a girl,” Ian replies softly. He runs his fingers over the picture of his kid. “We’re having a girl, and Mickey wants to give her up.” 

Lip finds himself staring at his brother, studying him. “You want that baby,” he observes. 

“She’s mine. Why wouldn’t I want her? I told Mickey I’d take her by myself, but he says he doesn’t want to see her in the neighborhood all the time if he can’t have her.” 

“He really said that? Mickey Milkovich?” 

“You know, he’s not too bad when we’re alone.” 

Lip steals one of Ian’s chips. “So Karen’s pregnant, too,” he says. 

“Yeah. Good luck with that one.” 

Lip chuckles and shoves playfully at Ian’s head. “Sorry I tried to choke you earlier,” he apologies. “I just couldn’t help but think it was Karen’s, you know? The timing was too perfect.” 

Ian just nods. Then he stands up and stretches a little. “I gotta go get ready for work and avoid Fiona trying to kill me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you, you know,” Lip adds as Ian’s leaving. “She’s looking out for you. And she’s kind of right. You’re 16- you’re not even close to finishing school. You can’t take care of a kid.” 

“I know,” Ian says, almost sadly. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting one, though.” 

***

Mickey hates working at the fucking Kash n’ Grab. It’s fucking boring, just standing around occasionally threatening people. And Linda’s voice coming over the walkie-talkie every 5 minutes to scold him for what he’s not doing is getting pretty old. The only good things about that shithole are the pay and Gallagher. 

Mickey wakes up with a headache and sore armpits, like he did a shitton of reps yesterday, which he most definitely did not. He rubs at the muscles, wincing a bit, and makes his way to the bathroom. He strips and is about to step into the shower when he something catches his eye. He turns and stares at himself in the mirror. 

His nipples, which used to be almost the same color of his skin, are now a dark brown. What’s more, they seem to have grown overnight, looking more like a chick’s nipples. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, touching one and wincing at the sudden sensitivity. And not in a good way. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

Even more this luck, that he would get fucking tits during his pregnancy. He shakes his head and steps into the shower, washing his body quickly and trying to forget about his chest. The morning is done going to shit yet, however, and when he tugs on his jeans he finds he can’t tighten them. 

“Fucking hell!” he shouts and stomps back to his room in just his boxers, where he finds his black sweatpants and tugs those on. He’s going to be fucking hot today, but it’ll have to do until he can get new clothes. Fucking _maternity_ clothes. He wants to kick his own ass. 

Gallagher points it out at work, because of course he does. “I like the look,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching up.  
“Not my fault your kid is growing like a fucking weed.”

“Really?” Gallagher’s eyebrows raise. 

“What the fuck is it to you?” Mickey snaps at him. “Shove the fuck off.”

He grabs a donut from the tray and shoves half of it in his mouth. 

“Mickey, I’m deducting that from your paycheck!” Linda says over the walkie-talkie. Mickey waves her off. He would give her the finger, but she’s his boss, so he’s got to play it nice when she can see him. 

“So, you’ll never guess what happened yesterday.”

“Frank finally die?” Mickey guesses. Gallagher laughs at that. 

“Sadly, no. No, Karen Jackson’s pregnant.”

“No shit, the blonde whore with the weird-ass mother?” 

“Yup. That’s the one. Lip thinks it’s his kid.”

“Well, is it?” 

“The odds are pretty high. But um, something else happened.” 

“Did someone _else_ get knocked up?” 

“Besides you? Nah.” Mickey flips him off. “Fiona and Lip found out about us.” 

Fear shoots through Mickey. “What about us?” he demands. 

“That we’re together and you’re pregnant.” 

“Lower your voice, shit-for-brains,” he hisses out, leaning in. “We gotta kill them. We shoot ‘em in the head, we dump ‘em in the river.”

Gallagher recoils. “What are you talking about?” 

“Cut Lip’s hands off, pull Fiona’s teeth, they can’t even be recognized.” 

“Woah, slow the fuck down. You’re not going to kill Lip and Fiona. They’re cool with it.” 

“Like hell they are. They’re gonna tell my dad, and he’ll kill both of us. Trust me, this is our best plan of action.”

“Mickey, listen, not everyone in the entire world is a homophobic Nazi like your dad, okay? Lip’s knocked someone up, too, and Fiona’s not looking to end Karen’s life. Hell, if she’s ending anyone’s life, it’ll be mine and Lip’s. What’s more, she’s fine with your plan of abandoning our daughter.” 

“It’s not abandoning her- it’s giving her a better life,” Mickey counters. He runs a hand through his hair. He finds it hard to believe that Gallagher’s siblings are fine with him being knocked up- he’s pretty sure he’s made their lives miserable more than once- but he supposes he’ll have to trust Gallagher. 

“Okay, Mick,” Gallagher says. He opens his mouth to add something else, but then an old dude walks into the store. Mickey watches him, but he doesn’t try anything funny and leaves quickly. “Can you suck me off after we’re done here?” he adds after the door slams shut. Mickey raises his eyebrows at the audacity of the kid. 

“S’long as you eat me out after,” he says, leaning against the shelves. 

“Consider it a deal,” Gallagher says, quirking his head to the side, his eyes playful. “And we can do it at my house. My siblings know now, it doesn't matter.” 

Fear jolts through Mickey again. His palms start to sweat, but he nods and finds himself agreeing to it. 

They grab some of the pre-made sandwiches and eat them as they make their way back to Gallagher’s house. 

“How’s West Point going?” Mickey asks for some reason, taking a bite of his ham and swiss. 

“Pretty good,” Gallagher responds. “I’m studying pretty fucking hard.”

“Still don’t know why you want to go.” 

“I’ll get to be an officer, and that ultimately means better pay.” He shrugs. “Not much else I’m good at. I’m not really that smart, and it’s not like I’ll be able to live a comfortable life working at Kash n’ Grab for the rest of my life.” 

He has a point and Mickey shuts up. Still though, the army? He’d have to be away for years. Mickey doesn’t know how he’ll be able to cope with Gallagher gone- 4 months in juvie seemed long enough. Then he shakes himself. As if they’ll be together that long. 

Gallagher’s house is full when they walk in, his younger siblings in a full-blown argument and his brown baby brother watching TV. 

“What the hell’s he doing here?” Gallagher’s brother, Carson, or some shit, says when he spots Mickey. 

“None of your business,” Gallagher replies and leads them upstairs. His older brother, Lip, is in his bedroom, smoking by the open window. 

“Well, shit,” he says when Mickey walks in the room. “If it isn’t Baby Mama himself.” 

“Call me that again and I _will_ fucking shoot you in the head and paint my house with your fucking brains.” 

Lip holds his hands up in surrender and gets down from the windowsill, patting Ian on his way out. “Have at it.” 

And they do. Mickey’s sucked Gallagher off only once before, but he realizes just how much he’s missed it- the hot weight of Gallagher on his tongue, the salty taste of his precum. 

“Fuck, like that, Mick,” Gallagher breathes out, holding the back of his head steady and Mickey wraps his fingers around the rest of his length that he can’t fit into his mouth. Gallagher’s always been so vocal whenever they bang- it makes hot arousal shoot through Mickey. With his other hand, he reaches down and palms at himself, arching his back a little. 

“Shit,” Gallagher breathes out, his hips coming off the bed a little, pushing himself further into Mickey’s mouth. “I’m close.”

Mickey can tell- his breathing has become more labored and his length keeps twitching. 

“Mick. Pull off.”

He doesn’t though, because so what if he wants to taste Gallagher? 

“Mickey,” Gallagher whines and then he’s coming down Mickey’s throat and fuck, this is more than he expected. He swallows; it’s more bitter than he thought, but not bad, then pulls back but Gallagher keeps going, and he ends up getting a free facial. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Gallagher pants out, pupils blown wide and mouth open. Mickey licks 

his lips. 

“Gonna do me now?” he asks, reaching for a tissue on Gallagher’s side table and wiping his face with it. When he’s done, Gallagher grabs his face and presses their mouths together. 

“I literally just had your dick in my mouth,” Mickey points out when they separate. 

Gallagher grins. “Pants off,” he demands. “On the bed.” 

Mickey twitches in his boxers at his words. Gallagher’s told him what to do before, but never in that tone, and it does things for Mickey. He complies, stripping his bottom half as fast as he can and getting on his hands and knees on Gallagher’s twin bed. He supposes they could do it in his house- he has a queen bed, but also a dad who would most definitely shoot them each 20 times. 

“Cleaned out already,” Mickey grunts out as he feels Gallagher’s hands settle on the back of his thighs. 

“Mmm,” Gallagher says, then slides one of his hands up to Mickey’s stomach, feeling the bump there. “Fuck, you’re bigger today,” he whispers, almost as if he didn’t intend for Mickey to hear. 

“I told you, I can’t fit into jeans anymore,” Mickey says, pressing his ass back, trying to get Gallagher to focus on that before he starts crying. It works, and Gallagher spreads his cheeks and dives right in, licking a strip up Mickey’s crack. “Fuck,” he breathes out. Again, they’ve only done _this_ once before, but Mickey fucking loved it and maybe jerked off in juvie, thinking about it. 

Gallagher eats him out like a starving man, fucking him with his tongue and holding tight onto his ass with both hands. Mickey arches his back and presses his ass back into Gallagher’s face, biting his lip to keep himself as quiet as he can, although moans and grunts slip through every now and then. 

When Gallagher moans, Mickey can feel the vibrations all throughout his body. “Fuck, Ian,” he breathes out when he does it the first time, and the other boy takes that as encouragement to continue. Mickey reaches a hand down to jerk himself off, but Gallagher slaps at his wrist and takes over himself, jerking Mickey at the same time as his plunging tongue and it doesn't take long for Mickey to spill over into Gallagher’s fist, his first name on his lips. 

Gallagher presses a fucking kiss to Mickey’s asshole, then spreads his massive palm over Mickey’s stomach, smearing his come everywhere. 

“I’m gonna have to take another shower, asshole,” he grumbles out. 

“Hmm,” Gallagher responds simply, grabbing Mickey’s hips and flipping them over so they’re both lying on their sides. Mickey sighs, content. Gallagher’s warm and he’s stroking Mickey’s stomach and Mickey’s heart is starting to hurt. 

“I wish-” he starts, then stops himself from spilling his guts out to Gallagher. 

The other boy doesn’t let him go easily, though. “You wish what?”

 _Fuck it._ “I wish my dad were dead. I wish I didn’t have to worry about if he would murder me for being knocked up or not. I wish I could stop tiptoeing around him. I wish I could laugh with Mandy whenever I wanted, instead of just being called a fucking fairy.” 

“I wish that too,” Gallagher says quietly and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. Mickey allows himself a few more minutes of freedom before untangling himself out of Gallagher’s octopus arms. 

“I’ll see you later, I guess,” Mickey says, tugging on his pants and boxers. 

“Yeah,” Gallagher says, watching him with sad eyes. Mickey sees himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, now Lip and Fiona know…


	6. Can I Have a Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guess what he fucking did!” he shouts, brushing past her into the living room. He kicks their sofa angrily, and is kind of surprised when it doesn’t collapse right into the floor. He whirls around and looks at Mandy, and she stares back, surprised. “Lip! Guess what that fucker did now?”   
> 2.06

Ian’s coming down the stairs to retrieve his West Point textbook that he left in the living room when Carl passes by him, heading to their room, saying “Some army dude’s here for you.” 

Ian blinks in surprise.  _ Holy fuck, really?  _ And sure enough, standing in  _ his  _ living room, tall and imposing, taking off his hat. Ian snaps to attention and salutes. The man copies him. 

“Exemplary salute,” he praises and Ian finds his inside squirming with anticipation. Lip

did it. He’s going to get to talk to this guy. 

“Cadet Colonel Gallagher, junior ROTC,” Ian rattles off, his arms behind his back. 

“Colonel McNalley, Department of Defense,” the colonel responds, holding out his hand for a shake. Ian takes it. “You Lip’s brother?” 

“Ian. Uh- he mentioned you were taking an interest, but didn’t say you were stopping by.” 

“Well, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yes, sir.” Ian notices something on Colonel McNalley’s uniform and nods at it. “Silver star. Iraq?” 

“Afghanistan. I got sand in parts of my body I still can’t get out.” He holds out a folder he was hiding behind his back. “Listen, this is a West Point application, I wanted to deliver it personally.” 

Ian takes it, his heart beating faster. Holy fuck, what did Lip say to this guy about him? 

“It’s been a goal for a long time,” Ian says. 

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, he’ll reach it.” 

And just like that, Ian’s heart sinks right down to his toes. 

“Big future, your brother,” Colonel McNalley continues. “The nature of combat’s changing. We need all the creative thinkers we can get. Is Lip home?” 

Ian shakes his head, tearing his gaze away. 

“You make sure he gets that?” 

“Yes, sir,” Ian sighs out. 

“Thanks.” The Colonel holds out his hand again, and Ian takes it, then he turns and sees himself out. 

Ian makes his way to his room in a daze. Thankfully, Carl isn’t there. He sits down on his bed and stares at the application, his mouth dry. Then he gets mad. Lip just  _ had  _ to go and fuck this up for him, didn’t he? He clenches his fists, his breathing starting to turn ragged, and throws the folder on his desk. Hot tears spring in his eyes. 

His entire fucking life, he’s lived in Lip’s shadow. He’s always been the dumber, smaller, less-attractive Gallagher brother. Fuck, people only know him as  _ Lip’s brother. _ And fucking Carl’s known by his name because he’s the only elementary-grade student who’s been suspended three times. What the fuck is Ian known as? He gets all of Lip’s old clothes, his old teachers, his old textbooks. Hell, when Ian knocks someone up, turns out Lip’s already done it too! And now when Ian wants to get into West Point, finally fucking do something with his life, Lip has to fucking get in instead of him! He stands up and whirls around, kicking his bed. 

“Fuck you!” he shouts. He’s seething, the most pissed he thinks he’s ever been, and he needs to take it out some way. He strips and changes into a tank top and shorts and drops down, channeling his rage into his workout routine. 

He’s doing push-ups, is up to 67 when fucking Lip, of course, walks in. 

“Went to Karen’s,” his brother says, as if nothing is wrong, reaching into  _ his  _ dresser drawer and pulling out  _ his  _ blunts, lighting one and sitting on  _ his  _ bed. “Tried to step up. She told me to fuck off, you believe that?” Of course he’s talking about fucking Karen, that’s all he wants to talk about anymore. It’s all  _ oh, Karen’s pregnant with my kid, but she’s married to Chody and oh, they’re not even a good match and oh, she’s throwing her life away and oh, she could do so much better with me  _ and then when Ian tries to bring up his child, Lip just insults Mickey, calls him dumb, calls him violent, says that he’s suprised he hasn’t killed their daughter yet. And suddenly, Ian wants nothing more than to bash Lip’s fucking brain in. 

But he just keeps doing push-ups, counting them out loud. He’s up to 78 now. 

“I’d rather play House with Keanu,” Lip says. He watches as Ian counts up to 82, then says, “You hear what I said?” 

“How many push-ups can you do?” Ian asks, speaking to Lip for the first time. 

Lip looks taken back by the question. “Well, right now I’m stoned.” 

“Your best day.” 

“I don’t know. 5? 6?”

“How many miles?” Ian demands, standing up once he’s reached 100. 

“Depends. Who’s chasing me?” 

Ian moves over to his brother and leans down close, to make sure he fucking understands him. “I can do a hundred push-ups at a time, run a 6-minute mile, and hit a freckle from 200 yards with an M-16.” 

“Dude, you need this more than I do,” Lip says, holding out the blunt. 

“You know what it means to have a war hero recommend you for West Point?” Ian says, ignoring him. 

“I told you, I’m working that angle, it takes time.” 

Ian moves around Lip and grabs the West Point application folder, throwing it at him. “No need. It worked.” 

“What, McNalley brought this for you?” Lip says, staring down at it. 

“Not me,” Ian replies. “Congratulations.” He walks into the bathroom and starts a shower. 

“Look, I didn’t have a chance to mention you, alright?” Lip calls from their bedroom, and Ian wishes he would just shut the fuck up sometimes. “It’s- it’s a misunderstanding! I’ll find him tomorrow.” 

Ian moves into the bedroom and tugs his shirt over his head. “Don’t worry about it.” It’s not a fucking misunderstanding. Ian knows exactly what this is. 

“What- you’re really gonna be a baby about this? You were the only reason I was even hanging out with that water-border McNalley.” 

Ian takes off his pants, leaving him in just his boxers. “I don’t need your help.” Fuck, he can hear his own voice crack. 

“Oh! Well, you should’ve told me that before I spend  _ my  _ summer trying to explain fucking Trigonometry.” Lip sounds mad now and what the fuck does he have to be mad about? “Alright, I didn’t even want you to do this!” 

“I’ll do it on my own now, okay?” Ian shouts, interrupting Lip and getting his face. He stomps away angrily into the bathroom. 

“You can’t do shit on your own,” Lip replies, starting towards the stairs. 

Ian freezes. That’s it. Yes, he fucking can. “Fuck you, Lip!” he shouts after his brother, watching as Lip stalls on the stairs. “At least I know my child is my fucking own; you can’t be sure if your kid is your son or your brother.” 

He watches as Lip turns around and runs up the stairs, punching Ian in the face. Ian grabs him and slams him into the sink. His rage is boiling over now, and suddenly there’s nothing more he hates on the planet than Lip. 

They wrestle and end up on the ground; Lip on top of him and grabbing for his throat. Ian lands a punch on his flank and rolls them over, but Lip has an elbow in his throat and shoves him up against the shelves. Ian jerks his knee into the other’s hip, and Lip cries out and flinches backwards, which allows Ian to shove him away until his knees hit the tub, and suddenly they’re falling down, the shower water raining over them. 

Lip grabs a shampoo bottle and smashes it on Ian’s head, who punches him in the face and he collapses on his side. Ian grabs his hair, pulling his head back, above the side of the tub. He stalls, realizing he could smash Lip’s face into the porcelain and probably break his forehead. That’s what he wants to do. That’s what he will do. 

But then he lets Lip go and stands up, shouting, “I’ll make West Point on my own. I don’t need you,” and leaves Lip in the tub by himself. 

He changes and runs all the way to the Milkovich house, pounding on the door until it swings open, revealing Mandy. 

“Guess what he fucking did!” he shouts, brushing past her into the living room. He kicks their sofa angrily, and is kind of surprised when it doesn’t collapse right into the floor. He whirls around and looks at Mandy, and she stares back, surprised. “Lip! Guess what that fucker did now?” 

“Um… I don’t know. Stole your weed?” 

“He fucked up my chances of going to West Point. West Point! He told me he was going to talk to them about me, and he ended up getting  _ himself  _ recommended. A war hero fucking came to our house today to give him an application!” 

“Shit,” Mandy says, her eyebrows raising up. “Sounds like he fucked up.” 

“That’s not all he fucking does, anyway. All he wants to talk about anymore is fucking Karen. Karen this, Karen that. We can’t even have a fucking conversation without him bringing her up! She’s not even a good person anyway- she’s a lying, manipulative little bitch. He won’t hear it when I tell her she’s no good for him, but expects me to fucking sit down and takes notes when he insults Mickey and  _ our  _ kid!” 

“What?” 

Ian freezes, staring at Mandy. Did he really just say that? “Shit. Look, Mandy, I-”

“Shut your face, Gallagher,” Mickey speaks up from the doorway to his room. Ian and Mandy snap their heads over to him, his face twisting up in rage. “Shut your fucking face, Gallagher!” he yells, and suddenly he’s flying at Ian, shoving him back. 

“Mickey!” Mandy cries. Mickey whirls around to face her, his eyes filled with fear. 

“Listen to me, bitch! Not a fucking word about this to anyone, alright? Or else I will personally cut off your tits and every single one of your fingers and leave them out for the fucking dogs to eat!” He shoves a finger in her face, but she doesn’t recoil, just stares between him and Ian. 

“Is it true?” she asks quietly. 

Ian gently places his hand on Mickey’s shoulder and drags him away from his sister. “I’m sorry,” he says, staring at Mickey. “I didn’t mean to say that, okay? Be mad at her, not me.” Mickey doesn’t do anything, just stares off into the distance, his chest heaving. 

“I didn’t- are you a carrier?” Mandy speaks up. 

Mickey pivots and stares at her. “I’m serious,” he says after a while. “Don’t tell a fucking soul. Dad will literally kill me if he finds out. You’re lucky he’s on a drug run in Milwaukee right now, Gallagher.” 

“Wait- how long have you two been fucking?” Mandy asks, still staring between the two of them. 

“Since January,” Ian mumbles out. 

“What the hell? You didn’t tell me? I’m your best friend. And you!” She points at Mickey. “I’m your fucking sister! The least you could’ve done was tell me when you found out you were pregnant!” They stare at each other for a while before Mandy tentatively asks, “How far along?” 

“4 months, almost 5,” Mickey answers. 

“Shit. You were pregnant in juvie?” 

Mickey shrugs. “Just barely.” 

Mandy turns to Ian. “And it’s yours.” 

“It’s  _ ours _ ,” Ian corrects. 

Mickey scoffs. “Like hell it is. You can keep convincing yourself that you can raise a fucking faggy baby in the South Side, but you sure as hell ain’t convincing me.” 

“Look, Mickey, I swear I’m not going to tell Dad, alright?” Mandy says. “I just wish you could’ve told me sooner. Do you need anything?” 

“Yeah? Like fucking what? I need this thing out of me so I can go back to smokes,” Mickey grumbles out. Ian swallows hard to keep himself from saying anything. He knows he wouldn’t have said that if they were alone. 

“Prenatal vitamins? I heard you’re supposed to take a shit ton of vitamins when you’re knocked up.” 

Mickey almost melts, and nods without speaking. They stand around for another moment, before Mickey retreats to his bedroom, mumbling something about needing a nap. His door slams and suddenly Mandy and Ian are alone. 

“So, Lip’s an asshole?” says Mandy. 

“Lip’s an asshole,” Ian agrees. 

***

Lip’s on the roof late in the next afternoon, smoking a joint. He desperately needed one all day. Fiona finds him, because she can’t fucking leave anyone alone. 

“What’s up with you and Ian?” she asks. Of course she would notice something was wrong. All yesterday and today, they glared at each other and didn’t say a word. “You say something about each other’s kids?”

Lip doesn’t respond. He supposes one could say that. 

“She’s married,” Fiona says. And she knows it’s not like Ian’s is any fucking better- there’s a fucking cabinet of guns in the Milkovich house. “You’re skipping the wedding reception, I hope?” 

“Wasn’t invited,” Lip replies, looking at her for the first time. 

Fiona nods, then shrugs. “She moved on.” 

“Hope you see the irony in  _ you  _ giving relationship advice,” Lip replies. Earlier that day, her ex-boyfriend showed up at their house, having been in Brazil for the last few months with absolutely no contact. 

Fiona starts to walk away, but then turns back. “Make it right with Ian,” she says. “You need each other right now. And besides, you two are my rocks. I can’t do it without you.” 

She leaves, and Lip drops his joint off the building, watching it as it falls down. He supposes she’s right. It’s funny really, how they both knocked someone up at the same time. He guesses that maybe he could forgive Ian if Ian could take back all that shit he’s said about Karen. But then he supposes he’s said his fair share of shit about Mickey. He knows how it feels when someone talks bad about the mother of his kid- he’s just doing the same to Ian. 

Maybe he’ll try tomorrow, while Ian’s at work, on neutral domain. 

***

Mandy steals him prenatal vitamins, just like she promised. Then when he complains about his clothes being too tight, she goes out and steals him those as well. 

They’re sitting on their porch, she’s smoking, and he’s nursing a water when she asks him the question he’s been dreading. 

“Are you gonna keep it?” 

“I don’t know,” he responds after a moment, quietly. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Yes.” 

“But you can’t.” 

“Yes.”

“Ian wants it.”

“I know.” 

“I saw the look in his eyes.” 

Mickey takes a sip of his water. His sister’s studying him, staring intensely at him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re gay?” 

“I’m not,” he scoffs. 

“Yes, you are. Fucking admit it already. I’m pretty sure that being knocked up with a guy’s kid makes you gay. And besides, I’ve seen how sad you are whenever you come home from fucking girls. You just do it for publicity, don’t you? It’s not what you really want.” 

“Shut your mouth.” 

Then Mandy gets pissed. She shoves at him. “No I will not! You’re my brother, and I want what’s best for you, and maybe this is the best thing for you!” 

“What? To be knocked up? In this neighborhood?” 

“No. To be with Ian. I’m still fucking pissed that you didn’t tell me, don’t forget it, but you two go together.” 

“Fuck off,” he says, shoving back at her.

She smiles up at him. “I’m serious. It kinda explains why he’s been so happy as of late.” He glances over at her and raises his eyebrows. “Kind of sweet, really.”  
“I’m not a fag,” he mumbles. 

Mandy rolls her eyes. “The word’s  _ gay,  _ Mickey. If you’re going to have a child with a guy, you should start to accept it.”

Mandy’s words ring in Mickey’s ears at work.  _ I’ve seen how sad you are when you come home from fucking girls. It’s not really what you want. _

Mickey runs a hand through his hair. No, it’s not what he wants. He’s stacking up boxes in the back room at the Kash n’ Grab; Linda just got a new shipment; when he hears commotion up from the front. He peeks through the glass in the door to see Lip Gallagher throwing a fucking watermelon on the ground, and then leaving. Mickey quirks an eyebrow and stacks the last of the box, making his way up to the front of the store. 

He’s practically  _ fuming,  _ one hand clenched into a fist while the other one is chugging back a beer. 

“What’d Big Brother do now?” he asks. 

“Trying to make up,” Gallagher growls out. “Fuck him. He can go back to his whore for all I care.” 

“Hmm,” Mickey says and walks over to the door, flipping the  _ OPEN  _ sign to  _ CLOSED.  _ “Looks like you could let off some steam, huh, Firecrotch.” He smirks at Gallagher, who stares back at him for a while before his face melting into that shit-eating grin Mickey loves. He makes his way to the back room, and Gallagher follows him like a love-sick puppy. 

“Um, are you sure we can bang? I don’t want to hurt her.” 

“We’re not gonna hurt her,” Mickey says, shutting the door behind Gallagher and grabbing the lube that’s stashed in the far corner and pressing it into Gallagher’s hands. “Not like she’s right at my fucking rim. Besides, it’s been too fucking long since I last got it good.” 

They tear at each other’s clothes, breaking heavily into each other’s mouths as Gallagher kisses him, sloppy and messy. He grabs his waist and walks them backwards, until the backs of Mickey’s knees hit the table that was set up there. Thankfully nothing’s on it as Gallagher fucking grabs the backs of his thighs and hoists him up on it, stepping up between his legs and bending him backwards. 

Mickey gets the message and lays down, his legs still resting up near Gallagher’s hips. 

“You gonna fuck me like this?” Mickey asks when their lips separate, arching his back off the table. 

“Fuck yeah,” Gallagher responds and starts undoing Mickey’s button. “You’re wearing jeans today,” he observes as he yanks them down and off, then goes for his boxers next. 

“Yeah, Mandy stole ‘em for me,” Mickey responds. 

Gallagher looks him in the eye. “I coulda bought new clothes for you.”

“Yeah, well you’re late bitch, now get on me.” 

Gallagher yanks off his own shirt then smears the lube over his fingers and shoves one in Mickey, who gasps out at the sudden penetration. He’s so hard it nearly hurts, and he can see the bulge in Gallagher’s jeans and he wants to touch it. Gallagher puts another finger in him, then slides his other hand up and under Mickey’s shirt, touching his bump like he always does. 

“Hmm,” he hums out, running his palm over his stomach. Mickey rolls his hips down to meet Gallagher’s fingers, hoping to distract him. It’s fucking weird when they’re fucking and he gets all sappy like this. But that doesn’t stop Gallagher and his hand travels up farther, brushing over Mickey’s left nipple. 

Mickey hisses because he’s  _ fucking sensitive there _ and jerks away, but Gallagher only takes his fingers out of Mickey’s ass and pulls his shirt up to his chin, his eyebrows meeting his hairline as Mickey’s chest is exposed. 

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, poking at the new flesh that’s starting to surround Mickey’s nipples. 

“Don’t fucking touch it, alright?” Mickey snaps. “Just a fucking side effect.” 

Gallagher barks a laugh but doesn’t listen. “Side effect, Mick, huh?” He tweaks his nipple, causing pleasure to shoot through Mickey’s body and him to arch off the table. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” he groans out. Gallagher laughs again but  _ finally  _ shoves his fingers back in Mickey, messily opening him up. 

Gallagher grabs his left leg and places his on his shoulder and  _ oh- we’re doing it like that.  _ He grins down at Mickey, lubes himself up, and guides himself into his ass. Mickey groans at the feeling. It’s been way too long. Gallagher waits until he’s adjusted, then starts to roll his hips. 

“Fucking faster, bitch,” Mickey bites out. “It’s been 4 months. I can’t wait any longer.” 

Gallagher obeys, and starts really fucking, snapping his hips and nailing Mickey in the right exact spot. 

“God, you feel so good,” Gallagher groans out. 

Mickey can almost ignore the pain in his thigh from behind held up in that position as he focuses instead on the white-hot pleasure he gets from Gallagher nailing his prostate and Gallagher’s hands gripping his hips and Gallagher’s words that circle around his brain-  _ You feel so good _ . 

“So tight, Mick, fuck.” 

Mickey grips himself, not jerking, just holding, as Gallagher runs his hands up his sides, letting out breathy moans. 

“Feels so good.”

Mickey can’t help but moan Gallagher’s name at that, finally jerking himself in his hand. “Not gonna last,” he manages. 

“Mmm, me neither,” Gallagher says back, and Mickey can tell because he starts to become sloppy, and then he’s emptying himself into Mickey’s ass, and Mickey is coming over his stomach. He thinks for a second they probably should’ve used a condom for the mess, but then figures it doesn't really matter anyway, he’s already knocked up. 

Gallagher pulls out and Mickey can feel him dripping down his thighs. He grabs some paper towels and takes a long time running them over Mickey’s stomach, and then over his ass and thighs. 

When he’s done, Mickey sits up and pulls him down for a kiss, slotting their lips together. “Missed this,” he whispers. 

“Me too,” Gallagher responds, and his fingers find Mickey’s stomach again and Mickey realizes he kind of likes it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


	7. A Bottle of Jean Nate, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gallagher turns him around and bends him over the couch, draping his back across him as he slides already-lubed fingers into his ass. Mickey’s still loose from last night, and it’s not long until Gallagher’s length is in him, like fucking home. 
> 
> That’s when everything goes to shit. 
> 
> Mickey hears the door slam and then “What the fuck?!”  
> 2.07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I hope everyone is safe and eating candy!
> 
> Everyone kept asking me how Terry was going to find out…

June fades into July, and the days grow steadily hotter. Lip and Ian are still pissed at each other, although Ian has to admit, not having to hear about how much Lip thinks Mickey is such a fuck-up is a plus. 

He reads on some mommy blog that their daughter is as long a sweet potato, that she can taste whatever food Mickey is eating, and that Mickey should soon start to feel her moving around. He also reads that the second trimester is the horniest, and that’s proven true as he and Mickey start fucking regularly, mainly in the back room at the Kash n’ Grab- Ian’s started bringing blankets over to soften their work space- although once at Mickey’s house; quickly, as the rest of his family had been away for a little less than an hour. And when they don’t fuck because Ian’s dick is sore, Mickey jerks himself off and shoves two fingers into himself as he watches. 

Mickey’s grown, as well. He no longer has just an alien bump on his lower stomach- his abdomen underneath his newly-softened chest slopes out gently, then rounds out around his belly button. It’s getting harder to conceal, and it’s not like he can wear layers, with the heat outside. Ian can’t stop himself from touching the soft skin there, and Mickey’s stopped shoving him away anymore. When he falls asleep at night, he imagines a perfect world where he and Mickey can keep their daughter and his family approves and loves them. 

But he knows life isn’t that fucking perfect. 

It’s mid-July when things go to shit, though.

After waking up, showering, jerking off, and making his way downstairs, he kisses Liam good morning and takes the bowl of cereal Fiona offers him, sitting down at the table. It’s not long until Lip comes down and Ian rolls his eyes at his brother’s fucking face. Fiona glances between them as they refuse to look anywhere but each other. 

“You guys _still_ not talking?” she says, sounding exasperated. 

At that moment, Carl falls through the laundry shoot in the ceiling, landing in a pile of dirty clothes in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dude!” Lip shouts. 

“Carl!” Fiona yells, throwing up her hands. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Ian throws in because Carl’s done a lot of stupid shit before, but this might be the stupidest shit he’s ever done. 

“Holy crap, why haven’t I ever done that before?” Carl says, standing up and grinning. 

“You have too much time on your hands,” says Fiona, rushing over and checking his head. “Summer school next year. How’s your head?” 

“Little dizzy,” Carl responds. 

Fiona sighs. “You’re fine. Go have some breakfast.” 

“Hey, how much are we looking at in the winter squirrel fund?” Lip asks. 

“Just over 9 grand.” 

“That’s all we made to get us through the entire winter?” Ian asks, because he did not fucking work his ass off at the Kash n’ Grab all summer to only add up to 9 grand. 

“Frank screwed us when he gave Liam away,” Fiona says, shoving the money she had been counting up earlier back into its cookie jar. “And there was that new compressor for the fridge.”

“Yeah, and the stuff for Liam’s ear infection,” Lip says, walking over to their little brother and kissing him on the head. 

“Everyone needs to get winter jobs,” Fiona mumbles. “Debs! Get down here!” She knocks on the staircase wall. “Breakfast!” 

“I’ll be right there!” Debbie calls from somewhere upstairs. 

“School supplies and clothing,” Fiona orders, handing Lip, Ian, and Carl rolls of money. “Nothing else. No candy, drugs, beer, or concert tickets. And I want receipts.”

“What if the drugs are really good?” Fiona’s friend, whatever the fuck her name is, says, coming out of their bathroom, holding a magazine and a coffee cup. Who drinks coffee on the toilet?

“You’re still here?” says Fiona, turning to her. 

“I got caught up reading a magazine.” 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Debbie says, coming downstairs and snatching it from her. She then takes the money Fiona hands her. 

“Debs, I need you to find the backpacks and any old school books. Carl, put the daycare supplies back in the basement,” Fiona says, crossing something off her list. She’s always making lists. “Lip, you and Ian can clean out the pool.” And fuck, there it is. Ian doesn’t want to do anything with fucking Lip right now. “I think there’s a few surprises in there for you.” 

“Carl, tell Lip to do it himself,” Ian says. There’s no way he’s talking to his brother after what Lip did to his store yesterday. 

“Lip, Ian says you can do it yourself,” Carl repeats. 

“Carl, tell Ian he’s being a douchebag and to stop talking to me.” 

“Ian, Lip says you’re being a douchebag,” Carl says in a whiny voice until Ian covers his mouth with his hand. 

“Okay,” Fiona intervenes. “Whatever it is that you guys are still doing, I want it over before school starts. So figure it out.” Her lady friend moves up behind her. 

“Mommy, what’s my assignment?” she asks flirtatiously. 

“Ah, go home to your family?” Fiona smiles. Ian vaguely wonders if he’s not the only gay Gallagher. 

“Actually, I need to go get the boat ready. Belmont Harbour, Slip 22, 2 o’clock,” she says, walking towards the door. 

“I said I’d think about it,” Fiona responds. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Ian shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth as Lip stands up and moves over to the stairs. 

“Fiona, what’re you cooking for breakfast?” comes Frank’s voice from upstairs. 

“Rooster in the henhouse, rooster in the henhouse!” Lip hisses out. “Hide the money!” And they all do just that, Fiona shoving the bucket full of cash in a kitchen cabinet by her foot, and everyone else getting up. Carl retreats to the living room and Debbie goes into the bathroom and Ian decides it’s the perfect time to go to work, even though he’s not supposed to start for another 45 minutes. 

He walks around the city some before his shift starts, his hands shoved in his pockets and thinking about how much he hates Lip. Mickey gets there a few minutes after him, wearing his baggy blue tank top that brings out his eyes. They work without talking to each other for a while, Ian ringing people up at the register, and Mickey intimidating people by his mere presence. The store’s quiet today- people are probably spending their day at the pool, avoiding the heat. 

It’s afternoon and their shifts are almost up when the delivery truck comes by, with their weekly supply of stock. They start unloading it, and Ian makes sure that he takes the produce instead of Mickey, because that shit is fucking heavy, letting the other boy stack the shelves. 

“Hey, my dad took my brothers on a run outta town for a couple of days,” Mickey says, breaking the silence. “So, if you wanna ditch that dump you’re living at and crash at my place, you can. I’ll tell Mandy to fuck off for a while.”

Ian stares at him. “Was I just invited to a sleepover?” he teases. 

“Fuck you is what you were invited to,” Mickey snaps back, throwing a can on the shelf and stalking off to grab some more from the back of the store. 

Ian lets out a laugh. Mickey’s never been this forward before when it doesn’t come to sex. Because he’s pretty fucking forward then, but he’s never invited Ian over before. The two times they’ve fucked at the Milkovich house, Ian was the one to bring it up. 

Ian slips out of his house right after dinner, telling Fiona he’s going “out,” and she somehow knows exactly where he’s going, as she sighs after him and mumbles something under her breath. Ian smokes a cigarette on his way there, but then extinguishes it on the Milkovich’s porch. He’s learned not to smoke around Mickey anymore, since he tried to in the Kash n’ Grab three weeks ago, and nearly got slapped. 

Mickey lets him into his house quickly, as if he’s afraid the neighbors would see. As soon as the door is shut, Ian crowds into Mickey and presses their lips together, his hand finding its way to Mickey’s waist. They’ve gotten more used to kissing, although Mickey lets Ian do it when they’re completely alone with no security cameras for Linda to spy on them through. 

“The fuck was that for?” Mickey demands as Ian pulls back. 

He shrugs. “I missed you.”

Mickey smacks his bicep. “You saw me like, two hours ago dumbass.” 

“Yeah, and I missed you.” 

“Fag,” Mickey says. “I got pizza rolls in the oven- pick out a movie.” He points to the coffee table in the middle of the living room, where a bunch of old movies are stacked.

Ian grabs one off the top and reads it out loud. “What about _Second in Command_?” 

“Aw, shit, I hate that movie,” Mickey says from the kitchen. “Iggy made me watch it all the fucking time when we were younger- it’s boring as fuck.” 

“How come you have so much Seagal?” Ian calls back, flipping through the DVDs. 

“Well, what would you prefer?” Mickey retorts. 

“Van Damme. He’s fucking better than Seagal in every single way.” He picks up _Under Siege_ because he’s seen that one before and kind of liked it, and he has a feeling Mickey’s not gonna want to watch anything other than Seagal. 

“You are out of your mind,” Mickey says, and Ian hears him slam the oven door shut. “Have you seen that fucking ponytail? It’s a powerful ponytail, man, that’s bullshit. Seagal could totally kick Van Damme’s ass.” 

“Oh, unless, unless,” Ian says back, loading the DVD into the TV. “It’s _Double Impact_ Van Damme. ‘Cause that’s some Van-Double-Damme!” He grabs a beer off the table and chuckles at his own voice, warmth blossoming in his stomach when Mickey laughs back at him. He settles into the couch, next to Mickey, as the other boy mumbles, “I wanna fuck Van Damme.” And _oh,_ Ian can totally get on with that, if that’s what he wants. 

The opening scene starts, and Ian glances over at Mickey. He’s scarcely dressed, since it’s just the two of them there, in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top that stretches ever so slightly around his distended middle. He leans forward and grabs a pizza roll, popping it into his mouth. Ian copies him, and maybe he moves closer to Mickey as he settles back, but who knows?

They can’t keep their eyes off each other throughout the movie, stealing quick glances at each other in the dim light of the TV. 

When the credits roll, Mickey blurts out, “You gonna get on me or not, Firecrotch?”

Ian pounces, pushing Mickey into the couch as he presses their lips together, sneaking a hand up to hold the back of his head. Mickey’s hand roams over his back before tugging up the back of his shirt. Ian pulls back and tugs it over his head, leaving Mickey panting beneath him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he groans out, stretching out his hands and brushing Ian’s pecs. Ian laughs at the sensation, then tugs up Mickey’s own shirt. 

“Wait- fuck- can’t we do this in my room?” Mickey groans out, lifting up his arms for Ian to take his shirt off. 

“Sure. We can do that,” Ian responds, then he’s grabbing Mickey, one had sliding up behind his back and the other one grabbing his hip and he stands up, carrying Mickey. 

“Jesus Christ, Ian!” Mickey exclaims, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Ian’s shoulders. He would think that Mickey was just surprised, if not for Mickey’s bulge pressing into his stomach. 

Ian walks them over to Mickey’s room. Mickey is heavy, but bearable, and Ian throws him onto the bed, regretting it immediately afterwards as he thinks of their daughter going for a tumble. 

“Shit, are you okay?” he tries to ask, but Mickey pulls him down for a kiss mid-sentence. He feels Mickey’s tongue shove its way into his mouth and he lets it, climbing on top of the other boy and caging him in with his arms. 

Mickey breaks off, panting slightly. “Lube’s in the nightstand,” he says. Ian throws open the draw, and the little container is the first thing on top. He smirks to himself and takes it out, flipping open the cap as Mickey tugs his pants and boxers off eagerly, tossing them without a care on the floor. His hands are grabbing at Ian’s waistband then, ripping them off his hips. Ian chuckles at Mickey’s desperation and helps him, until he's left just as naked as Mickey. 

Mickey flips over then, presenting his ass to Ian, which fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen, the way Mickey arches his back and drops down onto his elbows. 

“Get the fuck in me right now,” he barks out and Ian snaps to a salute. 

“Sir, yes sir,” he responds and Mickey laughs at him. 

“Now, and I fucking mean it,” he snaps, and Ian squeezes some of the lube onto his fingers and pushes one into Mickey, who lets out a little sigh as he does. 

Ian preps him, working his way up to two, then three fingers, before moving back to lube up his length. Mickey lets out a high moan as Ian finally gets in him, pushing in inch by inch until he’s buried up to the hilt. 

Ian pauses then, because the pressure is fucking _amazing,_ and he wants to give Mickey time to adjust, to make sure he doesn’t hurt him. He grips Mickey’s hip in one hand and his other one traces up his back, until he finally snaps at Ian to start moving. 

And Ian does, slowly but deeply, rolling his hips into Mickey’s, letting the other boy feel every drag of him. Usually, he starts out with a punishing pace, but for some reason he takes him time tonight, savoring the feel of Mickey beneath him, of his breathy little moans when Ian’s length presses into his prostate. 

“Feel fucking amazing,” Ian groans out into Mickey’s shoulder blades. He always does. His left fingers start to act on their own accord, sneaking around to Mickey’s front, first touching his stomach, then sliding down to wrap around his length, jerking him off slowly in time with each roll of his hips. 

“Ian,” Mickey pants out, his head dropped down between his arms. “Fuck, Ian, like that, please.” 

And _holy fuck,_ did Mickey just says _please?_ Ian finds it in him to somehow press impossibly deeper into Mickey, causing the other boy to clench tightly around him with a pitchy gasp. Ian jerks Mickey off with gusto now, faster than his hips are going, and Mickey’s coming in no time, panting heavily and clenching even more, and Ian follows closely behind. 

When he’s finished, he pulls out and collapses on his side, dragging Mickey with him with an arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Get a tissue, bitch,” Mickey bites out. “I’m not fucking _cuddling_ laying in a puddle of cum.” 

Ian sighs because he doesn't really want to leave Mickey’s warmth right now, but he does it anyway, bounding across the room and grabbing the box of tissues, pressing it to the messes they’ve made, from Mickey’s own cum, and Ian’s that dripped out of his ass. Ian grabs a spare blanket and throws it over the spots, with a mumbled promise to do the sheets later, and Mickey lifts his legs over the blanket, pulling Ian back down behind him. 

Ian drapes himself over the other boy, his arm wrapping resting on the dip of his waist and his hand finding his stomach. Mickey lets out a satisfied sigh and grabs the blankets from the bottom of the bed and throws them over them. His hand settles on top of Ian’s and he intertwines their fingers together. 

“Fuck, that was good,” he says. 

“Yeah?” Ian responds.

“Yeah. It was… different,” Mickey mumbles out.

“Slower, you mean, right? We usually do it fast, ‘cause you like it fast.”

“I liked it this time, too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian says, grinning. Mickey shoves at his face. 

“Fuck off, asswipe.” 

“Hey, it’s just us here,” he reminds him. “Nothing to be ashamed about.” 

Mickey falls silent, and tilts his head down, and Ian knows he’s studying their intertwined fingers. “You wanna spend the night?” he asks after a while. “My dad and brothers aren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I’d love that,” Ian responds. When Mickey falls asleep later, Ian finds himself studying his profile, the point of his nose and the curve of his chin, and the way his lips hang open slightly as he sleeps. He’s so relaxed, as if he’s completely unaware of the rest of the world, and all Ian wants to do is wrap him up and hide him away for no one else to see. But instead he settles for burying his face in Mickey’s neck and drifting off to sleep himself. 

***

Mickey wakes up the next morning, slightly chilly, as he’s stark naked, despite Gallagher’s warm body at his back and his palm on his stomach. He finds a smile making its way onto his lips, and he lets it, because no one else is here and he’s wrapped up in Gallagher’s arms, why wouldn’t he be smiling? 

Gallagher wakes up a few minutes after he does, and then they go again, Gallagher spooning him from behind and going as slow as they did last night. Mickey throws some frozen pancakes in the microwave and they eat them on the couch, lounging around, completely naked because they can and it’s just them in the house. Gallagher presses in close to him on the couch, his left arm draped over the back of the couch, eating his pancakes one-handed.

They play a car racing game, and Mickey beats Gallagher every single time, then Gallagher pulls him in for a kiss, his hand finding the side of his stomach. He does that every single fucking time they’re close, and Mickey knows he should shove Gallagher off, but he doesn’t. They both don’t have to go in to work until 2 o’clock today, so they’ve got all the time in the world. Mickey slides a hand up to tangle in Gallagher’s hair as the other boy tilts his head to get a better angle. Mickey loves kissing Gallagher. He knows it’s faggy as fuck, but… he loves it. He loves the way he can grip onto Gallagher and how their tongues intertwine and how he feels so fucking _close_ to him, closer even than when they’re fucking. 

Gallagher turns him around and bends him over the couch, draping his back across him as he slides already-lubed fingers into his ass. Mickey’s still loose from last night, and it’s not long until Gallagher’s length is in him, like fucking _home._

That’s when everything goes to shit. 

Mickey hears the door slam and then “What the fuck?!”

Ice-cold fear shoots through him and Gallagher pulls away, diving for his boxers and tugging them on. Mickey flips over to see his father, staring at the two of them. He tugs his own boxers on, and vaguely, in the back of his mind, he knows he should cover up his stomach, but there’s not a shirt anywhere nearby; they left theirs in his bedroom; and now Terry punches Gallagher and he goes down, collapsing onto a chair. 

“Dad! Dad, hold on!” Mickey cries out, but Terry doesn’t listen. 

He lands more blows on Ian, shouting “Mandy wasn’t enough for you?!” and Mickey can’t let him do it anymore, he can’t let him hurt Ian. He jumps on Terry’s back, his hands wrapping around his throat, using his weight to tug him backwards. Terry, though, grabs him and flips him onto the couch, and he’s staring down at him for the first time. 

“No son of mine is going to be a pole-smoking queer!” 

And then his fists are flying. Pain explodes from his right eyeball, and then on his head as Terry hits him over and over again. He tries to hold Terry back with a hand to his father’s face, but his protests are ignored as his nose erupts in pain. Mickey thinks that at least Terry’s isn’t aiming his blows at his stomach; he doesn't know if he’s seen it yet, but then Terry finds a discarded gun and is bringing the heavy metal down on Mickey’s head and he feels like his skull is going to crack open and the sounds around him start to fade and he can’t see the rage in his father’s face too well anymore 

***

Ian’s ears are ringing as the room is spinning. Terry’s here, Terry’s fucking here. _Where,_ he doesn't exactly know, the room is still doing circles. But then it stops and finds himself laying on a chair, right across from the couch, where Terry is on top of Mickey, hitting the fuck out of his head with a gun. 

Ian’s teeth and nose are on fire and his balance is off, but he still stands up and launches himself at Terry, throwing him off of Mickey and wrestling him for the gun because that’s _Mickey,_ and that’s his fucking _daughter._

“Don’t fucking touch them!” he hears himself shout and as goes down with Terry, the older man’s back landing hard on the floor and Ian presses his fingers into his throat. Terry roars, his hands coming up to grip Ian’s head, but Ian keeps pressing and pressing until Terry’s hands drop by his sides and his eyes slid shut. Ian checks his pulse; he’s not dead, just knocked out. Ian almost wishes he continued. 

He stands up, stumbling a bit, still in just his boxers. 

“Mick?” he mumbles out. His mouth is full of blood. He turns to the couch, expecting to see Mickey sitting up, but he’s still lying down, his head rolled to the side. 

Fear shoots through Ian and he runs over, kneeling down next to his side and pressing his fingers to his throat. He can feel his pulse, weakly, but there. Ian breathes a sigh of relief. Knocked out, just like Terry. Probably the fucking pistol-whipping. He leans their foreheads together and whispers the other boy’s name again. 

He stands up and bends down, ready to pick Mickey up and move him, probably to his bed, when he notices something. Mickey’s legs have fallen open, and Ian can see something dark in the seam of his boxers. 

“No, no, no, no, no.” 

This can’t be happening. His chest feels tight, he can’t breathe. He knows what that is. He knows exactly what that is. 

“Mickey! Mickey, can you hear me? Oh god,” he adds, glancing down between Mickey’s thighs, but then he feels nauseous. That can’t be their daughter, it can’t be. 

He scrambles away, finding a phone in the kitchen and punching out 9-1-1 before he even registers what he’s doing. 

“9-1-1, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?” a woman says. She sounds bored, not matching the thoughts Ian has running through his head at all. 

“Ambulance,” Ian blurts out. “Fuck, he’s unconsious, and- and there’s blood and what if she’s gone?” 

“Woah, slow down and tell me the address of the place you’re at right now, and then what happened,” the woman orders. 

“1955 South Trumbull Ave,” Ian rattles off. “Terry he- he found us and he hit Mickey real bad, and now he’s bleeding.” 

“And you said he’s unconscious?”

“Yes,” Ian breaths out. He rushes back over to Mickey. He’s still out cold, his head still lolled to the side. “I’ve called his name and he won’t answer.” 

“Where’s the blood coming from?”

“He’s pregnant,” Ian blurts out. “He’s pregnant.” 

“So the blood is coming out of his rectum?” the woman clarifies. 

“Yes,” Ian whispers. 

“Alright, an ambulance is one it’s way right now. How old is the victim and how far along in his pregnancy?”

“17,” Ian says, reaching out to touch Mickey’s hair. “And 22 weeks.” 

“Is there any more blood anywhere?”

“I-I don’t know.” 

“Can you check his skull gently with your fingertips. Don’t try to move his head or his neck too much.”

Holding his breath, Ian slides his hands to Mickey’s head, touching just the slightest bit. When he draws his hand back, it’s clean. “No, his head isn’t bleeding,” he breathes out. “But I think his nose is broken and he has a black eye.” 

“Alright. Keep calling his name and the ambulance will be there very soon, sir.” 

They are there very soon, nearly 2 minutes later. The woman finally lets Ian hang up on her, as she told him very clearly to stay on until the ambulance arrived. He meets them outside, and they wheel a gurney up the stairs and into the foyer. 

“You might want two,” Ian mumbles as he realizes Terry is still sprawled out across the living room floor. 

“Which one,” one of the EMTs asks, and Ian points to Mickey on the couch. They wheel the gurney over, and carefully lift him onto it. Ian hovers, leaning over them as they secure him. 

“Get a second gurney for the other one,” another EMT orders as she starts to wheel Mickey away. Ian follows. “What happened to him?” she demands as they pass by Terry. 

“Me,” Ian mumbles. “I knocked him out. He was on Mickey. Can- can I go with you?” 

The woman is silent as her partner helps them lower Mickey down the stairs. He looks so… peaceful, just laying there. He hasn’t awakened yet. 

“You together?” she asks him finally. 

“Yes,” he says, and she nods. He runs back into the house quickly to pull on a shirt and his jeans and shoes, grabs his phone, then is making his way to the ambulance as a third EMT is making his way with another gurney, saying something into his scanner. 

Ian climbs into the back as the woman throws a blanket over Mickey’s shoulders, leaving his legs bare. Ian sits down on the seat, in a daze, watching as the woman moves around the ambulance. He reaches out and grabs hold of Mickey’s hand that’s dangling near the edge of the gurney, threading their fingers together. 

“Mick,” he whispers out. “Wake up please.” 

The woman grabs a pulse oximeter and slips it over Mickey’s index finger of his other hand, studying it for a second, before reporting, “O-2 is 95% and heart rate is 127 bpm. Probably the blood loss.” She writes them down on a clipboard, then looks up at Ian. “Patient’s full name?” 

“Uh- Mikhailo Milkovich. M-I-K-H-A-I-L-O M-I-L-K-O-V-I-C-H.”

“Age and week of pregnancy?”

“17 and 22 weeks.” 

“History of drug use, alcohol, smoking?”

“Yes to all of those, but he’s stopped since we found out about the baby,” Ian replies, his voice small. The EMT nods and grabs a stethoscope. She’s pressing it against his lower abdomen, right where his bump is the biggest, when an EMT from the outside slams the doors shut. Sometime after Ian got in the back of the ambulance, a second one showed up, for Terry. Ian couldn’t give two shits about him. Let him die in the streets. He focuses back on the EMT, who’s moving the stethoscope around his stomach, like she can’t quite hear anything. 

Ian’s heart sinks to his shoes. “Is she alive?” he whispers out. 

The EMT freezes. “Weak, but I can hear it,” she says. Just then, the ambulance’s sirens come on and it jerks to live, speeding down the street. Ian braces himself against the seat, squeezing Mickey’s hand.

“Mick. She’s alive,” he whispers out as the EMT listens to his breathing. 

“You the father?” she asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Jesus, how old are you, kid?” 

“16.”

The EMT shakes her head and is grabbing a small flashlight and is moving towards Mickey’s head, when he lets out a groan. 

“The fuck is all that noise?” he mumbles out, his head turning to the side, his eyes fluttering open. He’s awake. 

“Mickey,” Ian says, leaning forward. “Mickey, god, you’re awake.” 

“Ian? What’s going on?” 

“You’re in an ambulance. You’re going to the hospital,” the EMT says. “Do you remember what happened?”

Mickey lets out a whimper and squeezes his eyes shut again. “Head hurts.” 

“I know, I know, shh,” Ian comforts, rubbing his fingers over Mickey’s knuckles. “You’re okay now. We’re going to the hospital. Terry isn’t here.” 

“Terry?” Mickey mumbles out, turning his shoulders to face Ian more. “Ow, fuck.” He winces. 

“Don’t try to move too much,” the EMT says. Mickey glances up at her. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

She lets out a sign and moves over the small flashlight. “I’m going to check your pupils, alright?” Mickey lets her, though he shuts his eyes immediately after. “Concussion,” she states. “Try not to fall asleep again.” 

“Head hurts like a bitch.”

“It’s going to be fine, okay? You’re going to be fine. She’s not gone. She’s still with us.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Ian, you’re talking too fucking loud. And why the fuck would she be gone? She ain’t gonna be out for like, another 4 months.”

“Mick,” Ian says softly. “You were bleeding.”

Mickey’s eyes grow wide and he looks scared, so fucking scared. “Ian. Ian, tell me you’re not serious.”

“No, but she’s fine. You’re both fine.” 

Mickey lets out a whine and squeezes his eyes shut, and his hand clamps down tighter on Ian’s. 

They get to the hospital, and the EMT sets Mickey up in a wheelchair, then hands him off to a nurse, who breezes him down hallways, Ian struggling to keep up. He wrestles his phone out of his pocket and punches the speed dial for Fiona, hastily putting it next to his ear. The nurse brings them into a room- 238, Ian is able to catch, and gets Mickey set up on the bed, handing him one of the ugly hospital gowns and checking his heart rate and oxygen stats again in the time it takes Fiona to pick up. 

“Ian? I’m on a cruise right now,” she hisses out. And right, her stupid cruise thing with her maybe-lesbian friend. 

“Just wanted to let you know I’m at the hospital right now.” 

“What? What the hell happened, Ian?”

“Um, something happened with Mickey,” he murmurs out, turning away from the bed in the middle of the room, where the nurse is helping Mickey get into the gown and an adult diaper, which Ian knows Mickey will bitch about later, but is too concussed now to. “His dad and- well, we’re at the hospital right now. They just need to keep an eye on him and the baby.” 

“Fuck,” Fiona lets out. “Okay, uh… I’ll be there in an hour?”

“Okay,” Ian says. “See you later.” 

He hangs up and the nurse breezes past him, finished with Mickey, who’s sitting upright, staring straight ahead, his fingers clutching his stomach. 

“Are you in pain?” Ian demands, rushing over. 

Mickey shakes his head. “No, just- what the fuck happened, Ian?” 

“You don’t remember?” The other boy shakes his head again. “Your dad found us. Wasn’t too happy. He punched me out, then was beating you up, and I couldn’t let him do that anymore. I knocked him out, but you were… you were bleeding… down there, so I called an ambulance.” 

Mickey glances down at himself. “But she’s alive?” he whispers out after a while.

“Yeah. The EMT heard her heartbeat.”

When Mickey cries, Ian knows to never bring it up again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know what you're thinking. It's THAT scene from 3x666, here in season 2. That scene didn't really fit my plan for season 3 (I'm so ambitious lol), but Terry had to figure out about Mickey's baby somehow. So me, being lazy, stole 3x06 and stuck it into 2x07. Hey, it works.


	8. A Bottle of Jean Nate, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His head is running now with the images from the ultrasound he had from before Fiona got to the hospital. She looked so much like a fucking real person, and then Mickey knew, he just knew, there’d be no way he would be able to give her up. He tried convincing himself that that would be what was best for her, and he needed to do it to give her a better life, but now, he thinks he won’t be able to give her up.   
> 2.07

Fiona is counting room numbers. She left that fucking dumpster fire of a boat cruise; she was almost glad Ian had called. She knew it was going to be a shit show the second Jimmy showed up. He and his _fucking wife._ She reaches room 238, and pushes the door open. 

The room’s small and cramped, and rather dark, with the curtains shut against the midday sun and only one light on. 

“Fiona,” Ian says, sounding relieved. He’s sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, which Mickey is laying in, looking grumpy as fuck, one of his eyes swollen shut and a bandage over his nose. Ian doesn’t look too much better; he has several cuts and bruises on his face and his chin is stained. 

“Hey,” Fiona moves over, wrapping her arms around Ian. He hugs her back. She hates seeing him like this. She hates seeing any of her kids like this. “What happened?” 

“Terry,” Ian replies, then takes Mickey’s hand again. She glances over at him. He’s not looking at her, and he’s wearing a hospital gown and an IV, sitting upright with the blankets pulled down to his waist so she can see his stomach. He looks farther along than she thought. 

“Are you two alright?” 

She knows she and Mickey don’t like each other, but she wants to make sure that now, while he’s in the hospital after being beaten up by his homophobic dad, she’s put their differences behind them. 

Mickey gives a small nod and Ian says, “The baby’s fine, too.” 

“Something was wrong with the baby?”

“Bleeding,” Ian says lowly. Fiona doesn’t miss the way Mickey’s fingers tighten around Ian’s. 

“Shit. But not any longer, right?”

Mickey shrugs. “They check in like an hour,” he says, speaking up for the first time. “And if I’m fine then, I get discharged in another hour.”

“Terry’s probably gonna go to jail again,” Ian pipes up. “Before you got here a policeman came and took our statements. It wasn’t too bad.” 

“Shit,” Fiona says again, her eyebrows rising. She stares at Ian, and then at Mickey. They’re so fucking young, and yet they have do deal with this shit? “So, you get discharged in an hour?”

“2,” Mickey corrects. “And move. You’re blocking the fucking TV.” 

Fiona takes a seat down in the chair next to Ian, and Mickey focuses his attention on the screen, where some cop show is playing. “Can I get you anything?” she asks Ian, ignoring the way Mickey just spoke to her. She’ll cut him some slack after having a near-almost-death experience. 

Ian shakes his head. “Nah, I’m fine,” he says. “Just waiting around for the okay from a doctor.”

Fiona’s phone buzzes then; she’s got a text from Veronica. 

_Jimmy just said he wishes you were here._

Fiona resists the urge to roll her eyes; of course he fucking does. He shows up with his fucking wife and then has the audacity to fucking _kiss her_ and that resturant? Who does that?

A nurse comes in nearly 45 minutes later and presses a stethoscope to Mickey’s stomach, then announces that she can still hear the baby’s heartbeat and that he can leave in an hour. As she exists, Fiona doesn’t miss the way Ian and Mickey stare at each other, Ian’s smile spreading across his face and the side of Mickey’s mouth flicking up. 

It’s weird; Fiona _knows_ Mickey Milkovich- he’s the kid who steals from stores and is still in his freshman year (even though he’s 17), he’s the kid who once beat up Dylan Smutko because he caught him dealing drugs with another boy behind the middle school and thought they were having sex. 

And yet, here he is, pregnant, holding hands with her little brother. It’s a fucking weird thing to wrap her around, but Ian is smiling, still fucking smiling, as Mickey drifts off to sleep, his body slightly angled towards Ian. 

“You really like him,” she observes, quietly. 

Ian nods. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Never thought I’d see the day when Mickey Milkovich got knocked up, but here we are.” 

Ian scoffs, rubbing his fingers over Mickey’s knuckles. 

***

Ian wakes him up when it’s time for them to leave. Mickey lets him help him up, then dresses himself once Ian’s sister has left the room. 

“How are you feeling?” Ian asks gently as Mickey tugs a shirt on. 

“Head still feels like shit,” he says, his hands smoothing over his stomach. “I’m glad she’s not hurt,” he whispers.  
“Me too,” Ian says back and then they’re kissing, but it’s soft and gentle, and Ian’s fingers are finding the back of Mickey’s neck and gripping on. 

“Can we go back to your place?” Mickey asks, hating the way his voice cracks. 

“Okay,” Ian whispers. 

Riding the L is pretty fucking awkward. Mickey’s head still hurts like a bitch with every bump and rattle. Fiona’s on one side, and Ian’s on the other, and even though they’re in public, Mickey can’t find it in himself to let go of his arm. Ian told Fiona that he was going to crash at their place, and even though she let out a long sigh, she eventually agreed. She’s on her phone now, typing something furiously, not looking at them, so Mickey rests his head on Ian’s shoulder. 

When they get to the Gallagher’s house, Carl’s in the living room, along with some wrinkly-ass old lady, who looks up with surprise as they enter. 

“Who the fuck are you? You’re not another Gallagher, are you?” she asks coldly. 

“Who the fuck are you,” Mickey shoots back. 

“Um,” Ian says, as Fiona moves past them and into the kitchen, probably to get a beer. “Grammy, this is Mickey, Mickey, this is my grandmother.”

Mickey vaguely remembers Ian mentioning something about his grandmother living with them and her world-famous pancakes, but somehow the image he had of her in his head of being some sweet, old, sweater-wearing grandma doesn't fit this one, where she’s drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette and looking like she could easily fuck you up.

“Jesus, kid, you got a bun in the oven there?” she says, nodding at his stomach. Then she glances at Ian. “You knock him up? Guess the potency of the Gallagher sperm really runs in the family- Lip’s got one too.” 

“I’m taking a shower,” Mickey mumbles out. The smell of her smoking is making him sick. He trudges up the stairs, and can hear Ian following him. He makes his way into their only bathroom and turns on the water and when he turns around, Ian is right there, shutting the door. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” he demands. 

“Showering,” Ian says simply, taking off his shirt. “Sorry about her.”

Mickey waves him off and strips down until his tugging off his boxers and - “Fuck no, I really let them put a diaper on me?”

Ian chuckles. “You were only about half-conscious,” he says. “So, yeah, you did.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

Mickey tries to ignore the hot embarrassment that shot through him as he peels the cloth off, pointedly not looking at Ian. There’s a little spotting of blood, but he ignores that and throws it in the trash. The nurse said he was cleared to go anyway, he should be fine. 

When he climbs into the shower, Ian goes in right after him, fully naked too, and presses up behind Mickey. 

“Not in the mood,” he grumbles out, because he isn’t. In any other moment, he probably would be up for a fuck, but after having his daugther nearly die, his head is too full. 

“M’not either,” Ian says, and then he’s hugging Mickey, wrapping his arms around him and gently cupping his stomach. Mickey lets his head fall back on the other boy’s shoulder. Fuck, this feels nice. 

His head is running now with the images from the ultrasound he had from before Fiona got to the hospital. She looked so much like a fucking real person, and then Mickey knew, he just knew, there’d be no way he would be able to give her up. He tried convincing himself that that would be what was best for her, and he needed to do it to give her a better life, but now, he thinks he won’t be able to give her up. 

And it’s not like there’s anything stopping him anymore. His dad’s in prison for what looks like the next 5 years (he claimed child abuse- wasn’t too hard, after he showed the policeman the old cigarette burn scar on the back of his right shoulder, and promised him that his brothers had the same), and it’s not like he and Ian are exactly a secret to anyone else anymore. Maybe, just maybe, he _can_ keep this baby. 

“I want to keep her,” he whispers. 

“What?” Ian says, taken back. 

“I want to keep her,” he repeats, then thinks _fuck it_ and turns around in Ian arms. “I want to have this baby, with you.” 

“You really mean that?” Ian asks, and he should not look this beautiful with water running down his head. 

“Yes, I do,” Mickey says and then he’s pressing their lips together, cupping Ian’s face as he wraps his arms around him, pressing them together. 

When they pull apart, Ian rests their foreheads together. “I want that too,” he breathes out. Then, “Holy shit. We’re having a baby. We’re gonna be parents.” 

Mickey shoves at him. “Yeah, that’s what having a baby means, dumbass.”

And then Ian is grinning at Mickey with that stupid grin and Mickey realizes he has yet to call him Gallagher. 

***

Mickey falls to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. They sleep on Ian’s bed, which is by no means big enough for two teenage boys, but Mickey curls his body back into Ian’s, facing towards the wall, as he says the lights give him a headache, and Ian wraps his arms around Mickey, around their _daughter,_ who Mickey just said he wanted to keep.

_I want to have this baby, with you._

It makes Ian’s insides warm and maybe it makes his groin tingle, but he knows Mickey isn’t in the mood, so he keeps it in his pants. It’s nearly 5 when Lip comes home and dumps his backpack on his bed then says, “The fuck’s he doing here?”

“Sleeping,” Ian says softly. “Keep your voice down.” 

Lip raises an eyebrow and goes to take out a smoke. 

“Hey! Don’t fucking do that in here!” Ian hisses out. “Bad for the baby.”

Lip waves him off but puts the cigarette back. Then he notices the bruises Ian’s sporting. “Holy shit, what happened?” 

“Terry,” Ian says simply, moving a strand of hair out of Mickey’s eyes. “Caught us together, beat Mickey unconscious. I returned the favor, then Mickey started bleeding, so I called an ambulance. Fiona met us at the hospital, and we all got back home like an hour ago.” 

“Shit,” Lip responds. “Wow. What are you gonna do now? What happened to Terry?” 

“Terry’s locked up now for child abuse. That should give him a 5 years, at least. And I guess Mickey’s gonna be staying here for a while. He probably doesn't want to go back home.” 

Lip studies them for a moment, and then Ian remembers that he’s supposed to be mad at his brother, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. 

“He wants to keep the baby,” he whispers out. 

Lip frowns. “I thought the plan was to drop it off at the hospital, let some rich fucker take it in.” 

“Well, we’ve decided to raise _her_ together.” 

Lip runs a hand through his hair. “How, Ian? How? You’re 16 years old, and Mickey’s a high school dropout! We live in a shithole, you aren’t raising a baby here!” 

“You’re sticking with Karen,” Ian points out. 

“That’s-that’s different.” 

_That’s a weak-ass excuse._

“Oh, yeah? How is that different?”

“Ian, keep your fucking voice down, man,” Mickey mumbles tucking his head to his chest. 

“Shit.” Ian woke him up. “Sorry.” He presses a kiss to the back of Mickey’s head, then shoots a pointed glare at Lip, who raises his hands in surrender. 

“Alright, maybe it’s not different,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’s not.” 

***

Mickey wakes up in the morning to Ian’s arms wrapped around him, his face buried in the back of his neck. He untangles them, and stumbles to the bathroom, taking a piss before making his way back into the room. Everyone’s slowly waking up, Lip taking the bathroom after him and Ian sitting up in his bed. Ian’s little brother, Caleb, or whatever, is staring at Mickey as he moves over to Ian and tugs on a pair of Ian’s sweatpants over his boxers that have just been laying on the floor. 

“The fuck you looking at, kid?” he barks out. 

Ian shoots him a glare but says to his brother, “Carl, use the downstairs toilet.” 

The kid, _Carl_ , sighs but gets up out of bed, stumbling out of the room. Mickey tugs off his shirt and grabs another random one, with an American flag on the front, which means it’s Ian’s. 

“Need to get shit from my house today,” he mumbles out, mostly to himself, as he flips the shirt around, trying to find the head hole. But then Ian’s grabbing his hips and standing up, pressing their bodies together. His palms spread out across his stomach and he presses their lips together. 

Mickey doesn’t even care that they both have morning breath; he kisses Ian back, and his toes are tingling and his heart is beating, and then Lip walks in. 

“Jesus, is this gonna be a regular show now?”

Mickey shoves Ian away, turning away from Lip and tugging Ian’s shirt over his head as fast as he can. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but now that he’s knocked up it feels weird to have his abdomen and chest on display. 

“You done in the bathroom?” Ian asks, and Lip nods, so he makes his way to the bathroom, leaving Mickey and Lip alone. Mickey doesn’t know what to say to the guy. He sits down on Ian’s bed, staring down at his hands. 

“Heard what happened,” Lip says, pulling a tank top over his bare chest. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey shrugs. “Parents suck ass, you know?” 

“You gonna be staying here long?” 

“I don’t fucking know.” 

Lip nods and grabs the cigarette packet on his desk. Mickey will kill him if he smokes right now, but he doesn’t, just shoves it in his pocket. “Take all the time you need,” he says, and then he’s gone, and Ian’s padding back in, having changed and splashed water on his face. 

“Breakfast?” he says and Mickey nods, standing up with Ian. 

The Gallagher’s grandmother, as it turns out, makes some mean banana pancakes. 

Mickey can ignore the stares from Carl and Ian’s little sister, who has red hair just like him and an innocent face, if it means he can shove this delicious food in his mouth. 

“Fuck, this is good,” he says. He’s sitting between Ian and Ian’s other little brother, Liam, who’s brown like chocolate but Ian still claims is his brother. 

“There’s sugar in this,” Ian’s grandmother says, flipping a pancake from the stove while sitting on a chair. 

“Who the fuck puts sugar in pancakes?” Mickey asks, then takes another bite. He can feel Lip’s eyes on him, silently judging him, from across the table. Mickey doesn’t give two shits. Okay, maybe he gives a little bit of a shit, this is Ian’s _family_ , but he tries not to let it show. 

Fiona comes downstairs, looking stressed, as Mickey picks up is a constant theme of hers. 

“Thanks for making breakfast, Grammy,” she says. 

“No problem,” the old woman responds. “Carl, after breakfast, be ready to work again.” 

The little kid looks excited and starts eating his pancakes faster. Mickey raises an eyebrow. The kid is like, 9. What kind of work is he doing?

He shoots Ian a look, to which he responds with, “There’s a meth lab in the basement. Grammy’s paying Carl to help.” 

“No shit?” Mickey looks at the kid with new respect now. “Damn, kid. You’re gonna be like a fucking billionaire one day.” 

“That or end up in jail,” Fiona says, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I’m serious, Carl, next year, you’re going to forget what meth even is.” 

“Hey, how was the boat party yesterday, before the whole hospital thing?” Lip asks Fiona, who rolls her eyes. 

“Jimmy showed up.” 

The triggers reactions from the Gallagher kids, mostly shock, though a gasp from Ian’s little sister. 

“Really? The fuck did he want?” 

Mickey has no idea who this Jimmy is, but based on everyone’s faces, he assumes it’s a 

bad ex of Fiona’s. 

“Jasmine invited him. Wanted us to make up.” She shook her head. “Came with his wife.” 

“He has a wife?” Lip exclaims. 

“Yeah. Met her when I was going to that dinner with Adam. She’s Brazilian- doesn’t speak a single word of English.” 

“Men in your generation have all become trash since they’ve decided Brazilian pussy is better than American pussy,” the Gallagher’s grandmother throws in helpfully from the stove. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go to work today, but you can stay home if you want,” Ian says to Mickey quietly. “I’ll make up something for Linda.”

Mickey thinks about it for a second. He needs the money, but his head still hurts like a motherfucker and he’ll probably be too distracted to work. “Sure, man,” he says. “Need to pick up my shit from my house anyway.” 

Ian nods and shoves the last bite of his pancakes in his house, standing up and dumping his dishes in the sink. “Later,” he says to everyone. 

“Can you bring home dental floss?” Fiona asks. “We’re almost out.” 

He leaves, with one last glance at Mickey, and then it’s just him and Ian’s family. They ignore him for the most part, going back to talking about Jimmy, so he deposits his plate in the sink, like Ian had done, and goes back upstairs to sleep some more. He curls up on Ian’s bed and slides a hand down his stomach. Lip comes in, not much later, grabs something and then leaves, and Mickey can hear voices downstairs, like a lull, drifting him off to sleep. 

He wakes up later with a headache, the pills he took in the middle of the night having worn off. He stumbles to the bathroom, takes a dump, and then throws back a Tylenol. 

The house is a fucking mess, with the Gallagher girl’s daycare all over the place, kids screaming and wailing. On his way out the door as fast as he can, he grabs a stray hoodie and tugs it on, flipping the hood up. He’s going to be fucking sweating buckets, but it’s better than being recognized, in case some of Terry’s friends are lingering in the neighborhood. 

It’s a 3-minute walk to his house, but by the time he gets there, he’s freely sweating. The door is unlocked, as it always is. Anybody would be insane to try and break into the Milkovich house. He had hoped that no one else would be home, but of course Mandy is. She’s sitting on the couch and looks up at Mickey in shock when he comes in. 

“Mickey! Where the fuck have you been? What happened here? I came back last night and there was fucking blood on the floor!” She points the ground in front of his feet, and Mickey can see a stain there.

He shrugs and moves past her, making his way to his room. 

“What the fuck, Mickey?” she says, storming after him. “Where’s Dad? I called you, like 400 times, but you never picked up!”

Mickey grabs his phone from his bed and shows it to her. “I was out,” he says simply. “Didn’t have my phone.” 

“Where were you?” she asks again. “Iggy and Colin were no help, they were with Dad all day. I had to clean up the fucking blood all by myself!”

“Pops caught Ian and I together,” Mickey says, grabbing his backpack from the corner of his room, and starts pulling open his drawers. “We went to the hospital and had a nice fucking old time. The nurse was real bitchy. So, sorry I didn’t have time to clean up blood in the living room, I was too busy worrying about the baby dying.” He shoves random clothes into his backpack. Mandy doesn’t respond, so he continues. “She’s fine, but I’ll be staying at Ian’s for a while. Don’t know when I’ll be coming back. I just need to get out of this shit show for a while.” He turns around to go to the bathroom and grab his shit there, but Mandy is blocking her way. She grabs onto his arm. 

“The fuck, Mickey?” she asks, but her voice is quiet. “Are-are you okay? What happened to Dad?” 

“I’m fine,” he responds. “Dad’s probably in prison right now, the cops showed up and everything. Shame you weren’t there to see it.”

“You said you were… worried about the baby dying?” 

“Ian said I was bleeding,” he makes his way into the bathroom, slowly, letting her trail behind him. “I didn’t know- I was so out of it. Nurse said I had a concussion. But she’s fine, now. Pulled through. Tough little fucker.” He grabs his toothbrush. 

“She is a Milkovich,” Mandy says quietly, leaning up against the door frame. 

“And a Gallagher,” Mickey reminds her. 

“So, you’re really staying at Ian’s?” 

“Yeah. I don’t wanna stay here anymore than I have to,” he replies, guestering around himself. She nods. She gets it. That’s why she sleeps over at her friends’ houses so much- their house fucking sucks ass. Although maybe it sucks a little less ass, now that Terry’s gone. 

“Yo, Mandy! Is Mickey home yet?” 

It’s Iggy. Dread shoots through Mickey, and he stares at Mandy with wild eyes.

“Yeah, he’s in here,” she responds over her shoulder. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey hisses out. 

“I told him you were caught up in some shit, and that I was worried about you being missing last night,” she says lowly. “He went looking for you all night.”

“Mickey! I went all over the fucking South Side, where were you, man?” And then he’s pulling Mickey into a hug, pressing their bodies together. Mickey freezes. “Probably caught up with a girl, huh? Don’t know why Mandy was so fucking worried, I told her you’d find your way back home eventually. Gotta ease up on those pizza rolls, huh?” he says, smirking, and then he’s reaching for Mickey’s stomach. 

Mickey knows it’s harmless, he knows Iggy doesn't know shit, but that doesn't stop him from slapping at Iggy’s arm and anger shooting through him. His brother jerks his hand back and raises an eyebrow. 

“Shit, sorry, I was just joking.” 

“I guess that’s the shit I’m caught up in,” Mickey snaps, glaring at Mandy. And suddenly, he doesn’t give a fuck who knows anything anymore. He brushes past his siblings, back into his room, and reaches into the bottom drawer of his dresser, shoving aside sweaters and grabbing out his anal beads. Mandy’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead and Iggy says, “What the fuck is that, man?” 

“Ben Wa beads, just in case my baby daddy and I wanna use them,” Mickey snaps. “I’m staying at his place for a while, maybe just until after I pop this kid out, maybe forever.” He shrugs and zips up his backpack. “You know the Gallaghers, Iggy? Turns out if you let any one of ‘em fuck you, you get knocked up. Happened to Karen Jackson, happened to me. Dad found out, he’s in prison right now, max 5 years. Also, the South Side hospital’s shit. See you guys later, I guess.” 

He turns to go, but Iggy doesn’t let him off easily. “Mickey!” he calls. “You’re a carrier?” Mickey turns around. His brother’s not angry, or homicidal, more shocked, his mouth falling open. “Why didn’t you say something? How long has this been going on? I thought we tell each other everything!” 

The thing is, they do. Iggy and Mickey- they’re tight. They don’t look like it on the outside, but Iggy’s been his best friend since elementary school. Sure, he goes to prison occasionally, but really, they’re extremely close. Maybe not as close as Mickey and Mandy (although they’re only about a year and a half apart compared to Mickey and Iggy’s 3), but definitely closer than Mickey and Colin ever were. 

Iggy spilled to Mickey the first time he had sex, then the first time he smoked pot, then the first time he cried. And Mickey told Iggy about the first blowjob he’s ever gotten, the first granola bar he stole, and the first time he smoked a cigarette and coughed it out then punched the boy who’d made fun of him. 

They also tell each other wherever they’re going- and they’re brutally honest with it, too. Iggy will tell Mickey he’s going over to the next street to fuck Maddie, and Mickey will tell Iggy he’s going the liquor store on the corner of West and Seaver to steal some beer. They always know where each other is at all times. He glances between Iggy and Mandy, and they looked just about as shocked as he feels. 

“Yeah, well, somethings you just don’t need to know,” he snaps, then turns on his heels and leaves. He doesn't miss Mandy saying, “Leave him, Igs, he’s scared and hurt, he’ll come around,” as he slams the door behind him. 

He doesn’t bother putting the sweatshirt he stole from a Gallagher back on as he walks on the sidewalk. He doesn't give two shits anymore. Let them whisper. Let them stare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! Two chapters in one day? What am I, a superhuman?  
> No, I'm just bored and wrote all the chapters out already in docs and am hungry for comments.  
> Note I've changed the amount of chapters this fic has- I'm trying to make sure the chapters aren't super long and overwhelming- personally, that's my pet peeve- when the little scroller on the side is minuscule, so I'm trying to decrease that as much as possible.


	9. A Bottle of Jean Nate, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian grins and presses their lips together, and it’s as good as the first time. It always is. He’s been having strange dreams as of late, dreams where he and Mickey are relaxing on some couch in some blank, white room, holding a little toddler on their laps, a little girl, her dark hair done up in pigtails and her blue eyes glowing bright as she stares into both of their eyes.  
> 2.07

Ian’s in paradise. For 5 days now, he’s been able to stare at Mickey whenever he wants, touch Mickey whenever he wants (with just a few restrictions, of course, because he does live in a house with 7 other people), and fall asleep with Mickey wrapped up in his arms. It’s fucking amazing, is what it is. 

Mickey throws a fit one morning when he steps into the shower and finds stretch marks on the lower half of his abdomen, but calms down once Ian promises to buy him some cream at Walgreens. Later, when he brushes his teeth, his gums bleed and he spits blood into the sink, he throws another fit, then wants Ian to go back to bed with him. Ian obliges, figuring it’s better to just indulge him for the time being, rather than get his balls snipped off like Mickey threatened to earlier that morning. 

The next day, Mickey says he feels their daughter moving, like a little tap against his stomach, but Ian can’t feel anything, though the mommy blog says he should be able to feel them now. But it’s not like he’s spending every waking hour with his hands pressed up against Mickey, waiting for that tiny signal from their daughter. 

Mickey fits in well at the Gallagher house. He’s grumpy, but it’s more of a good-natured grumpy. Carl thinks he’s cool, Fiona appreciates him because he unloads the dishwasher for her, he sometimes helps Debbie hold a crying toddler during her daycare, Lip still a little cold but that’s expected, he and Grammy discuss the changing face of meth dealing, and Liam actually smiled at him the other day. Ian can only thank his lucky stars that Mickey and Frank haven’t met yet- that’s sure to be a disaster. 

Mickey’s back working at the Kash N’ Grab, though now he and Ian have traded places; Mickey does the cashier while Ian prowls the store, after Mickey complained of back pain once. That doesn't stop Mickey from verbally berating the middle schoolers who keep trying to sneak food underneath their shirt, however. Linda gives them both their checks on Thursday, exactly a week after Mickey started living with Ian, and Ian finds his brain starting to come up with an idea. 

“So,” he says when they’re walking home that afternoon, the sun beating down on the backs of their necks. “I was thinking we should start saving up.” 

Mickey glances over at him and raises an eyebrow, so he continues. “For, you know, when the baby gets here. Babies are pretty expensive.”

Mickey kicks at a loose stone, his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he says. “You know what is also a good idea? My dick in your mouth.” 

Ian sighs. He knows the extra horniness is just part of the pregnancy, and he should probably go along with it if he wants to keep his manhood, so he says, “Mickey, I’m serious. We’re going to need money for diapers, so many diapers, and clothes and formula, and like, fucking furniture.” 

“Furniture?” Mickey echos. 

“Yeah, you know, like a high chair and a stroller and a crib and…”

“Can’t we just use the stuff your family has?” Mickey interrupts. 

“Liam’s still young,” Ian reminds him. “He’s not out of his crib yet, and he still uses his highchair and stroller. Not to mention we only have one play pen, and one car seat.” 

“Jesus,” Mickey lets out. “Why the fuck do we need all that shit to take care of a baby? We should just move to Africa, let the kid run wild like her ancestors, or whatever.” Ian smirks. That’d be a nice thought. “But I’ll see what my family has. Maybe we have some shit in the basement. If not, we could always steal it.” 

“We’re not gonna steal our daughter’s crib,” Ian sighs. Mickey rolls his eyes and mumbles out a “whatever,” and Ian throws an arm around his shoulders. Maybe he _will_ suck Mickey off when they get home. 

Fiona’s in the kitchen however, and intercepts them before they can go upstairs. 

“Ian, did you get your paycheck today?” she asks, and he nods, because it’s right in his hand, he’d be a fucking idiot if he said otherwise. 

“Good. Can you add it to the Squirrel Fund? I think we’ll actually be able to make our quota this summer.” She holds out the old Crisco bucket that’s served as their savings over the summer, where Fiona, Lip, and Ian can all get full-time jobs without worrying about school. Ian just blinks at her. The truth is, he had forgotten all about the Squirrel Fund when he made plans with Mickey to save their money. 

“Um, actually,” he starts. “I was thinking I was going to save my own money from now on.” 

Fiona lowers the bucket, and fixes him with an “oh, really?” glare. “Ian, you live in this house. You’re a part of this family. You contribute to the goddamn Squirrel Fund.” 

“Well, I’m kinda going to need the money for when the baby comes, won’t I? Babies aren’t cheap.” 

Mickey unwines his arm from Ian’s waist where he had set it before they walked into the house, sensing the tense atmosphere. Fiona looks between the two of them. 

“What. I thought you said you were going to give the baby up.” 

Ian runs a hand through his hair. He has a feeling this is going to get ugly. “Yeah, well, things have changed, I guess. We’re gonna keep her.” 

“Ian, what the fuck? I thought we’ve already had this talk. You can’t take care of a baby. And neither can you!” she says, jabbing her finger at Mickey. Mickey looks taken back. He’s probably never had a woman yell at him before. “You’re both teenagers. Ian, you’re in high school, and Mickey, well, you’re _supposed_ to be in high school. And I’m not going to take care of another kid!” 

And then Ian gets pissed. For the past two months, all he’s heard is how he can’t take care of his own baby, how he’s too young, how he needs to focus on other things, how Mickey isn’t right for him. What if he wants this? What if this is the life he’s chosen? 

“Fuck you, Fiona,” he spits out. “I’m not asking you to take care of my kid for me, alright? Mickey and I, we’re going to raise her, together. Alone. We don’t need your help, and we certainly don’t want it. Maybe if you weren’t so conceited, you’d see that not everyone needs you all the time. I can do this on my own.”

Mickey stands still next to him, unsure what to do, while Fiona just blinks at him. 

“Fine, then,” she says after a while. “You can either use that paycheck right there to put in the Squirrel Fund, or you can use it for your baby and then get the fuck out of my house.”

Well, shit. That wasn’t what Ian meant when he said _on his own_ at all. He just meant he didn’t need any help in raising a kid, he could change her diapers, feed her, all that shit (with Mickey, of course). He didn’t mean he wanted to be completely and utterly on his own, a fucking homeless guy on the street. 

With a glance at Mickey, he begrudgingly shoves his paycheck in the open Crisco bucket. Fiona nods and slams the lid down on it. At least she didn’t ask for Mickey’s paycheck. As she’s putting it back in the cabinet, Ian and Mickey make their way upstairs. 

“Oops,” Ian says when the door to the bedroom is shut. Lip’s at Karen’s again, and Carl is playing video games downstairs, so they're alone.

“Yeah, good fucking job,” Mickey sneers. “Not only have you lost your paycheck, you’re now on your sister’s shit list.” 

Ian waves him off. “I’ve been on her shit list since like 7th grade,” he says. That’s true. 

Ian collapses on their bed, and Mickey follows after, pressing close into him. A year ago, Mickey would punch Ian if they were this close. Now though, he rests his head on Ian’s shoulder. 

“How much are we gonna need?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” Ian says. “Diapers are what, like $20 for 200 or something? And babies need like, fucking 300 diapers a month?”

“That’s a fucking lot of diapers, man.” 

Ian scoffs. “Yeah, right? Not to mention newborns grow like fucking weeds and need a shit ton of clothes. Also cribs are expensive as hell. Wait, hold on.” He figures that looking it up would be a lot easier than trying to do the math himself, so he grabs Lip’s laptop from his desk and types his question into the search bar, eyes widening at the results. 

“Where the fuck are we going to get $12,000,” Mickey reads. 

“Haven’t a fucking clue.” 

They stare at the number for a while, then Mickey sighs. “Well, I suppose I could sell some of my dad’s guns. He has some good ones that could go for like $500 each. And he’s got some coke that he won’t be using anymore, I’m guessing that’s about $200 for the whole thing? That’s a start, right? And if we pick up some extra hours at the Kash N’ Grab, we could give Fiona what we usually make and keep the extras for ourselves.” 

Ian shuts the laptop and throws it back on the desk, turning towards Micky. “I guess I didn’t really think any of this through when I said I wanted to keep her.” 

Mickey shoves at his shoulder, playfully. “Yeah, well I wanted to keep her first.” 

Ian pulls a face. “No you fucking did not,” he claims. 

“Well I knew about her first.” 

“You wanted to get an abortion when you first found out about her.”

“Because I was in fucking juvie! You would want an abortion too if you found out you were knocked up in the can!” 

The smirk that’s spreading across Mickey’s face looks so relaxed, so happy, that Ian can’t help but stare at him. “I guess we both wanted her at the same time. I- I know it’s a lot of money, but I think it’ll pay off, you know?” 

Mickey leans into him, pressing their foreheads together. “‘Course it’ll fucking pay off,” he insists. Ian grins and presses their lips together, and it’s as good as the first time. It always is. He’s been having strange dreams as of late, dreams where he and Mickey are relaxing on some couch in some blank, white room, holding a little toddler on their laps, a little girl, her dark hair done up in pigtails and her blue eyes glowing bright as she stares into both of their eyes. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d have a kid to call his fucking own, much less with _Mickey Milkovich,_ but here he is. It makes sense, almost, that beneath Mickey’s _fuck-u-up_ exterior and his harsh words and even harsher bullets, is a man who’s sitting on Ian’s bed, their faces pressed together, Ian’s child growing inside of him. 

Then the moment is broken as Mickey gasps and pulls back. 

“What’s wrong?” Ian blurts out, but the other boy just shakes his head and grabs his hand, placing it over his abdomen. 

“She just started kicking like hell,” Mickey says, and _fuck,_ Ian can feel it, little taps against his palm as he spreads it across his stomach, feeling their daughter make herself comfortable. Ian laughs, giddy, and Mickey follows suit, and Ian follows up on his suggestion earlier and sucks his brains out through his dick. 

***

A few days later, Mickey sneaks over to his house again, this time with the intent of raiding his basement. He takes Carl with him, because the kid looked bored as fuck and would probably set the house on fire if left there. 

The only problem with Carl, is that he won’t shut the fuck up. 

“Does your basement have corpses? Does your dad own any bazookas?” 

He very nearly worships the ground Mickey walks on. It would’ve been kinda cute, if it wasn’t so goddamn annoying. 

“Okay, listen kid, you’re going to need to shut up for a few,” Mickey hisses out when they’re hiding behind a tree a few feet away from his house. “We’re sneaking in- no one’s supposed to know we’re here.” 

Carl nods, his eyes glowing. Mickey vaguely hopes he isn’t teaching a future burglar. There’s a door to the basement on the side of the house, so that’s where Mickey and Carl sneak into. It’s unlocked, as usual, though the light still works. The whole place is trashed, and it smells like mold and weed. It’s packed with boxes upon boxes of god knows what, from broken lamps to Mandy’s dolls she had when she was young, to a moth-eaten fur coat. 

“Cool!” Carl says and he holds up an old hunting knife that was Mickey’s grandfather’s. 

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t poke yourself with that thing, kid.” 

He finds an ancient basket, and picks it up from the top of the stack of boxes it had made its home on. It’s got wooden legs that can unfold so it can stand up at waist height, and has a white shade with little yellow ducklings all over it. It’s sweet, but fills Mickey’s lungs with dust. It’s not much, but it’s a start. 

He enlists Carl to help him move the stacks of boxes, and unearths a stained changing table. He figures he can paint over it, and crosses that off his mental list. 

“Woah!” he hears Carl exclaim from behind him a little while later, then hears the sounds of something falling to the floor. He glances back at the kid. It looked like Carl had tried to yank a book from the middle of the stack, and had in turn toppled the rest of it. “I’m good!” he calls, grinning like a fucking idiot, and Mickey has to shake his head at the kid. He’s pretty good entertainment. 

After some more poking around, Mickey finds the gem of the haul. A pine crib, shoved up in the corner and stuffed full with cobwebs, dust, and old beer bottles, but it’s a fucking crib. Everything seems to be miraculously intact, and he digs out the bottles inside it and gets Carl to help him move it closer to the door. It’s rather light, but he’d rather not push himself when he only has 3 months until his due date. He throws the basket and the changing table inside the crib, then has Carl pick up one end while he picks up the other. Okay. It’s a lot heavier now. He has no idea how they’re going to fucking sneak away with this shit. 

Turns out he can’t, as Iggy walks into the basement just then. Mickey freezes, staring at his brother, who stares back. Carl has the mind to keep quiet. 

“Need some help?” Iggy says after a while, then shoos Carl away. “You and him can take turns,” he instructs the kid. “Not good for him to be carrying heavy shit, but I don’t think you’re really big enough for this.” Carl looks pissed at that, but he trails behind Mickey and Iggy as they carry the crib out of the basement. 

It’s slow progress, going all the way to the Gallagher’s house, because they keep setting the crib down every few feet to readjust their grips or to catch their breaths, and they switch Carl and Mickey out every block. Finally, though, Iggy and Mickey carry the crib with the changing table and basket through the front door, setting it down in the living room, amongst Debbie’s toddlers. 

“I’ll get Lip and Ian to carry it upstairs later,” Mickey says to Iggy. “Thanks for the help.” 

Iggy stares at him, studying him. “No problem, little bro,” he says after a while. “And congratulations, by the way.” 

Mickey nods as Iggy sees himself out. Their old tension from a week ago seems to have been forgotten, and Mickey’s fine with that. Once they get home, he does force Ian and Lip to carry the shit upstairs. They shove it in the back of the hall for the time being, and Lip says, “Where the fuck is the baby going to go after it’s born? It sure as hell isn’t staying in our room.” 

Mickey shrugs and glances at Ian. He hadn’t really thought that far. He’s just taking life day by day, not even giving a thought about the future. He should at least _start_ to do it now, he figures, since he has to push a baby out in 3 months and he has no clue how. 

“She could sleep in the dining room,” Ian says. 

“I ain’t sleeping on that fucking couch,” Micky grumbles, watching as Lip lifts the changing table out of the crib. It’s just big enough to fit a baby, and has two shelves underneath it and a spot where a drawer used to go, but is empty now. 

Fiona is surprised when she sees Mickey’s haul after she comes home from her work. 

“Where the fuck did you get all of this shit?” she asks, her eyebrows trying to escape out the top of her forehead. 

“My house,” Mickey grunts out. “Figured if there was some good shit there, then we wouldn’t have to buy it. Want me to cut up lettuce for dinner?”

He has no fucking clue why he’s helping her, it just feels right. They work in the cramped kitchen together, Mickey chopping lettuce and tomatoes and Fiona cooking taco meat. Grammy Gallagher comes back from whatever meth adventures she was on, and slices up an avocado with them. Dinner is loud but homely, with Carl annoying the hell out of Debbie, and Lip laughing at a story his grandmother’s telling. Frank comes by, grabs a taco, and leaves, and doesn’t seem to notice Mickey sitting next to Ian, which is good. Ian and Mickey jerk each other off after Carl and Lip have fallen asleep, Mickey coming with two of Ian’s fingers stuffed up his ass. 

The next day, Mickey goes back to his house, but uses the front door instead of sneaking in the back. Thankfully no one’s home, so he makes his way to the gun cabinet in the middle of the living room, opening it easily. Terry’s never put a lock on it, even when they were kids. He grabs Terry’s M-16 and AK-47, throwing them on the couch before making his way into his old room. He grabs assorted pistols that he doesn’t use anymore and digs around underneath his bed until he finds an old duffel to shove the guns in. He rifles through some drawers and manages to collect nearly 8 ounces of coke and throws that in along with the guns. Deeming it a good haul, he zips up the duffle and throws it over his shoulder. 

He sets up shop in West 48th, in an alleyway behind a tiny store, where all the gun dealers go. It doesn’t take long before some low-life scumbag makes his way to Mickey- a cigarette dangling from his lips and his gait not quite straight. 

“Hey,” Mickey says to him. “You looking’ to buy?” 

The guy’s so fucking drunk, he buys the M-16 off Mickey for $850 and a packet of weed. It takes Mickey only about 2 hours to sell the rest of the guns and the drugs, racking in nearly $2,000. He pockets the money and throws the duffel away- it has throw-up stains on it, anyway, and makes his way back to the Gallagher house. He’d call it a good day. It’s not $12,000, but it’s a start. 

Ian’s surprised when he dumps the money on him later that night. 

“Where the fuck did you get this?” he asks, his mouth open slightly. 

“Sold some guns,” Mickey replies. “You can get in a shit ton of money if your customers are all shit-faced or stoned.” 

Ian raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that like, morally wrong? That’s like rape.”

“Whatever, man. They have guns now and we have money for diapers and clothes.” 

Ian’s previous conflicts seem to go out the window as he grins up at Mickey and yanks him down for a kiss. They collapse on their sides on Ian’s twin bed, hands roaming on each other. Ian tugs his shirt over his head, then does the same for Mickey’s, then Mickey flips over, arching his back, and glancing back at Ian who’s just smirking at him, as always. 

Ian tugs down his pants, and Mickey’s brain decides it’s a good idea for him to say, “Cleaned out already this morning.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian raises an eyebrow, rubbing his hand on Mickey’s ass. “You got yourself ready for me?” 

“Fuck you, Firecrotch, I got myself ready for myself.” 

Ian tips his head and squints. “But I don’t know how you can eat yourself out.” 

Mickey smacks Ian’s hand. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. Just get on me already.” 

Ian chuckles and licks a stripe up Mickey’s crack, and _god,_ that’s good. He sighs and pushes back against Ian, who runs a hand up his back, his tongue flicking over Mickey’s hole. His other hand comes up to squeeze at the back of his thigh. 

“Fuck yeah, Ian, like that,” Mickey groans out, his hand wrapping around his length and jerking himself off slowly as Ian _finally_ pushes his tongue inside. 

He fucks Mickey quickly with his tongue, hot arousal shooting all throughout his body, making him throw his head back and his toes curl. Ian is fucking _amazing_ with his tongue, but nothing trumps his dick. Mickey’s hand moves faster, and he’s _so close_ , and Ian’s sucking and moaning against his rim now, and– 

“Jesus Christ!” 

Mickey spills over into his hand as Ian jerks back and grabs a discarded blanket, wisely throwing it over Mickey’s bottom half. Ian’s still in his jeans, so he just holds his hands over the tent that’s slowly going down in his pants. 

Mickey glares at Lip. “Fucking really?” he snaps. Lip is still standing there, a hand over his eyes. 

“Can I just grab my history textbook and then burn my eyes?” he asks. 

Mickey huffs and flips over, rearranging the blanket on his lap. Ian looks _mortified,_ his face matching his hair. 

“Don’t you fucking know how to knock?” he grumbles out. 

“You have any acid?” Lip asks Ian in response, who doesn’t say anything. Lip waves him off, grabs his book, and leaves, shutting the door on his way out, but Mickey isn’t in the mood anymore, and neither is Ian, going from the absence of his erection. 

Mickey lets out a huff and throws the blanket off him, grabbing his boxers from the floor. “I hate your brother,” he grumbles out. 

The Gallaghers throw him a surprise birthday. He is… surprised. Birthdays at his house were a forgotten thing, with only a half-assed “Happy birthday” mumbled out to the lucky person the morning of. The last time Mickey got a birthday present was when he was 11, from Mandy, who made a card for him during school and proudly displayed her hideous drawing skills. Mickey’s never gotten a single birthday present from his dad or brothers. His mother used to give him a few toys when he was little, but stopped when he turned 8 because it became too expensive and his father claimed kid’s toys were turning him into a pussy. 

But the Gallaghers get him a small chocolate cake and Fiona, Lip, and Ian all get him cards (Ian’s has a drawing of a dick inside, causing him to slam the card shut and glare at the other boy as soon as he opens it), and they all have cake and blare music and talk loudly. Everyone drinks except for him, but he doesn’t mind, because he gets to lean against Ian’s shoulder, listening to Fiona recount a hilarious story from her job. 

Lip forces Carl to stay out of the boys’ bedroom until much later that night, throwing Ian and Mickey a wink as they make their way upstairs. And finally, finally, Mickey gets that dick he’s been craving for nearly 2 weeks now and can never get. 

Ian spoons him after, and he basks in the other boy’s warmth. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Ian begins. 

“Really? Wow. It’s a miracle,” Mickey interrupts, and receives a punch to the shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking that if you’re going to have the baby in 3 months, we should start to like, prepare for her birth and start looking into things and shit.”

Mickey’s face must look blank, because Ian continues, “Like, looking up birthing stuff because we should probably know exactly what we’re getting into. And how to take care of a newborn. And what to do if she gets sick. And how to feed her. And how-”

“Okay, okay,” Mickey interrupts. Ian’s getting all riled up now, looking a little frightened. “We could go to the library after work tomorrow or something. Like, check out books.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I think that shit would be good to know, too. Better start now than later, we only have 3 months to do it in.” 

***

They head straight to the library after Linda lets them go for the evening. It’s a sad, run down little thing, with only 3 librarians, all of whom are ancient and Ian wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually the 3 Fates from Greek mythology. 

The library has a tiny collection of books, and only about 5 books make up their whole pregnancy/parenting section. Ian grabs all five. 

“Jesus, how quick can you fucking read?” Mickey asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Ian shrugs and leans over, placing a kiss on Mickey’s cheek. Early that morning, Mickey had woken him up with a punch to his chest and demanded that Ian feel his stomach, which their daughter had been using as a punching bag. Ian’s hands are itching to feel her again. Mickey makes a face and wipes his cheek, but Ian knows he likes it, and he grins. He makes his way over to the front desk, where the librarian there looks either asleep or dead. 

“Bit of light reading?” she drones as Ian places the books on top of the desk. Mickey hides behind him. 

“Just a bit,” Ian responds, holding out his library card, then dumps the books in his backpack when she’s checked out all of them. 

“Return then by August 25th,” the librarian says in a completely monotone voice. 

“Uh-huh,” Ian says, slinging the backpack over his shoulders. He won’t, and they won’t care, anyway. The books become heavy as they walk home, the sun beating down on their heads and backs. 

“Why’s it gotta be so fucking hot in the summer and so cold in the winter?” Mickey complains. “Just pick a goddamn temperature and stick to it.”

Ian shrugs. “Something to do with the sun and how far we’re facing away from it,” he answers.

“Jesus christ, I didn’t ask for a science lesson,” Mickey bites back, then lets out a “fuck,” and puts a hand on his stomach. “Tell your kid to settle the fuck down,” he snaps. 

“When we get back to my house,” Ian responds. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Mickey’s usually pretty grumpy, sure, but today he seems extra pissed. He snapped at Ian when he offered to pick up the box of 6 packs that Mickey was struggling at, and barked at a slow customer. 

“Your fucking house, man,” Mickey sighs. “It’s too fucking cramped. Carl walked in while I was brushing my teeth this morning and starting taking a fucking piss. Fiona hovers so fucking much, and your grandmother’s slower than a fucking corpse. Not to mention, I can’t even get 15 minutes to blow you before Lip walks in and complains.” 

“He let us bang last night,” Ian reminds him. He knows exactly what Mickey’s talking about. His house feels too cramped for him, sometimes. 

“Yeah, but that was one fucking time!” Mickey explodes. “Not my fucking fault I’m horny as a bitch all the time!” 

Ian sighs. He sometimes wishes he and Mickey had their own room, so they could fuck and cuddle to their heart’s content. Barely a week ago, Carl had stared at them in the morning as they held each other, and Mickey screamed his head off at the kid. But he knows that’s not possible. All 4 bedrooms in the Gallagher household are taken up- 1 for Fiona, 1 for Debbie and Liam (Fiona forced Debbie to take Liam back into her room when Mickey moved in), 1 for Grammy, and 1 for Ian, Mickey, Lip and Carl. There’s just no space for them to sleep alone. 

The living room is overcrowded with Debbie’s daycare as they get back to the house, and Mickey stomps upstairs, throwing himself down on Ian’s twin bed. Ian follows him, dumping his bag on the floor and sitting next to him. 

They’re quiet for a moment, before Ian speaks up. “Is she still moving?” 

“No,” Mickey says quietly. 

Ian almost wishes she was. He reaches into his bag and pulls out _What to Expect When You’re Expecting._ Mickey raises an eyebrow at it. 

“They talk about carriers?” 

Ian flips to the table of contents, and scans it quickly. “No, but I think it’s still good information. Here-” He opens up to _The Sixth Month_ and finds **Week 25** , and begins to read. “Baby’s growing by leaps and bounds, and inches and ounces, this week reaching 9 inches in length and more than 1 ½ pounds in weight. And there are exciting developments on the horizon, too. Capillaries are forming under the skin and filling with blood. By week’s end, air sacs lined with capillaries will also develop in your baby’s lungs, getting them ready for that first breath of fresh air. Mind you, those lungs aren’t ready for prime-time breathing yet– and they have a lot of maturing left to do before they will be. Though they’re already beginning to develop surfactant, a substance that will help them expand after birth, your baby’s lungs are still too underdeveloped to sufficiently send oxygen to the bloodstream and release carbon dioxide from the blood (aka breathe). And talking about breathing, your baby’s nostrils, which have been plugged up until now, are starting to open up this week. This enables your baby to begin taking practice “breaths.” Your baby’s vocal cords are functioning now, leading to occasional hiccups (which you’ll certainly be feeling).”

“Why the fuck do I care about lungs?” Mickey says. 

Ian shows him the picture of the baby on the page, still so tiny, but looking so much like a real baby, and he shuts up. 

“I guess she’s starting to hiccup now,” he says after a while. 

“Yeah,” Ian responds and flips to the next page, reading aloud about all the different symptoms in the sixth month. Mickey scoffs at the end and reports he’s experienced all of them. His fingers are finding Ian’s right arm and gently resting there, and Ian wants this moment to last forever, but then Fiona yells up at them to help with dinner. 

Ian reads the books about pregnancy to Mickey. There’s 3 of them (the other 2 are about parenting kids), and one of them has a shitton of pictures, which Mickey appreciates. Ian doesn’t bring it up, but he knows that Mickey has a 6th-grade reading level, and that sometimes the words can swim together on the page and mix him up. Mickey always scoots close to him when he reads, and one time he gets as bold as to wrap his arm around Ian's, his fingers playing with the sleeve of his shirt. 

A week passes before they finally get their wish. The Gallagher household wakes up in the morning in mid-August to a loud boom. Turns out Grammy’s meth lab in the basement has exploded while she was out shopping for her medication. Fiona and Ian dump baking soda on the fire, and Fiona’s pissed as hell. 

The whole house smells like meth when Ian and Mickey leave for the Kash N’ Grab. 

“Your grandmother’s crazy as shit, man,” Mickey says, absentmindedly rubbing the side of his belly. He’s been doing that for a few days now, and Ian doesn’t want to call him out on it, in fear that he’ll stop. It’s too fucking cute. 

When they get back, Grammy’s gone, and Fiona says she fell and has stage 4 cancer. She reports that Frank brought her over to the Jackson’s house.

“Her bedroom is empty now,” Fiona says. “Once you get the old lady smell out, I’m sure it’ll be suitable for the baby.” 

Mickey’s head snaps up. 

“Are you sure?” Ian asks. 

Fiona nods. “Just because I’m not paying for the baby doesn’t mean I’m going to be a fucking monster and make you continue to sleep with Lip and Carl. Besides, Lip’s been complaining about walking in on you two banging.”

Grammy’s room is smaller than the one they’ve been sleeping in, but they have it all to themselves. There’s a queen size bed- a fucking _queen size bed_ \- that’s pushed up on the far wall, in between the two windows. Mickey orders Ian to drag the crib into their room and shove it up against the wall on the left, next to the changing table he made Ian paint white. Ian has to admit, he did a fucking good job. 

Mickey changes the sheet on their bed to “get rid of old lady pussy,” fluffs the pillows, then practically pounces on Ian. It’s the first time they’re literally able to _roll_ around in a bed without bumping into a wall or falling off, and Ian sucks Mickey off until he comes, then fucks him on his back until he comes again. Afterwards, he nuzzles into Mickey’s shoulder, pressing a kiss against his skin. 

“You’re glowing,” he says. 

“I’m sweaty as fuck, bitch,” Mickey says back, but his hand comes up and his fingers tangle in Ian’s hair. “The changing table looks nice,” he says. 

“Mmm,” Ian responds. “Fiona’s a fucking saint.” 

“I don’t know about that. Her screaming in the morning is turning me deaf.” 

Ian chuckles and breathes in Mickey’s scent. He likes how he smells– mint soap and sweat and slightly smoky, and just so much _Mickey_. 

Before they drift off to sleep, Mickey turns around so they’re facing each other and buries his head in Ian’s chest, his hairs tickling Ian’s nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how deals are done, don't judge me.


	10. A Bottle of Jean Nate, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That word strikes fear through Mickey- hospital. He’s always hated them. The only way he was able to stand his last hospital trip was because he was severely concussed. He doesn’t like strangers, and the idea of strangers seeing him when he’s most vulnerable- literally giving birth, makes his hands shake and his stomach roll.   
> “No, no, no hospitals!” he bursts out. “I’m not having her at a fucking hospital!”   
> 2.07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- kind of a graphic description of reproductive organs and pregnancy.

Two weeks breeze by, and before Mickey knows it, he’s 7 months along. According to Ian’s faggy baby books, he’s now into his third trimester. He makes Ian get him more pants now, seeing as his sudden growth spurt last week made him outgrow the ones Mandy stole for him, and the fucker comes back with _fucking maternity_ clothes. They’re extra stretchy around the top, and Mickey snapped at Ian when he showed up with them, but now he’s grateful for them. Not that he’d ever admit that outloud, of course. 

Pregnancy, he’s learning, is no fucking picnic. His stomach rests against the tops of his thighs when he sits down, and he can’t really see his feet too well anymore and he has to walk with his legs awkwardly bowed out whenever he goes up the stairs. He’s constantly hungry, but gets constipated too easily, and is always tired, but can’t seem to fall asleep for a while. He usually lays in their new bed for at least an hour, while Ian’s hand rests on his stomach underneath his shirt, before he’s finally able to drift off to sleep, but then his dreams are filled with flashes of red hair and a crying little girl and sometimes his dad’s there and then he wakes up, panting and sweaty. 

He’s starting to get discharge from his ass too, and had freaked out at first when he found some sort of off-white goop among his shit. He spilled his worries to Ian, who looked like the visual of “light-bulb moment,” then read a passage from one of his baby books, which said it was just “cleaning out his cervix for birth.” Mickey nearly threw up then. His innie has turned into an outie, which he wanted to shoot the morning he woke up to find he “popped” (that what Ian calls it), and that it shows through his favorite red and white tank top. 

At least his stretch marks are getting better, thanks to the cream Ian bought him, but his skin’s still itchy as fuck. The itchiness is starting to spread to his legs, too, which Ian says is because his legs are starting to swell. He gets a punch for that, but then apologizes by buying lotion and rubbing it on Mickey at nights (which more often than not turn into handjobs or ass eatings or blowjobs). 

But he supposes pregnancy has its payoffs, too. 

Ian won’t stop touching him, whether it’s an arm throw over his waist at night, or their legs pressed together underneath the table during mealtimes, or a hand wrapped around his shoulder when they sit on the couch and watch whatever movie Carl or Debbie picks. Not to mention the increased sensitivity he has. He was able to come untouched just from Ian eating him out the other day, which was embarrassing, then even more so when Ian got him to come a second time from sucking his brains out through his dick. 

The kid is kicking and moving around more now. In fact, Mickey isn’t sure there’s not an hour of the day when she isn’t using the walls of his stomach as her own personal punching bag. But what’s the most unfair is how it seems to be only Ian who can calm her down. Mickey’s tried petting his stomach, rubbing circles, fucking _talking_ to her, and nothing helps. It’s only when Ian settles his fucking huge hand on his skin that she decides to kick back and take a nap. 

Speaking of kicking back, Ian hasn’t had the chance to do that in forever. He’s picked up extra hours with Linda, going in before the store even opens to act as a babysitter for her sons so she can sleep in. Her baby’s due in about 2 ½ months, and Mickey hates their due dates are so close, but really, it makes sense when he thinks about it. He and Ian started fucking because Linda wouldn’t let Kash and Ian bang anymore because she wanted another kid with Kash. Why, Mickey will never understand. 2 kids should be enough and it’s not like Kash is the best father in the whole world- between the pedo thing and then the running off thing. 

Mickey would almost feel guilty about not taking up extra hours himself, but when he gets back from his 10–4 shift he’s bone tired and moody and his back hurts. 

“I think we should go to a clinic,” Ian says one night while they’re lying on their bed, when it’s too early to fall asleep, but they don’t want to get ready for bed yet. 

“A clinic?” Mickey repeats. “Just to take a little day trip?” 

Ian rolls his eyes. “No, to have a check up.” He glances over at Mickey. “You’ve never had a real check up, besides that ultrasound you got 3 months ago and then the hospital visit. I’ve been reading about them. They’re really useful- you get an ultrasound to detect any possible problems, and then you talk to the doctor about what you’ve been feeling and they give you like recommendations and tips and shit. And I think it would be a good idea, seeing as you’re going to have the baby in 2 months and we still have no fucking clue how.” 

Mickey thinks for a moment. As much as he hates other people, he has to admit, that sounds like a good idea. It would be nice, to talk to an actual professional who can answer his specific questions; not having to resort to Ian’s books. “Okay,” he says after a while. 

The clinic is squished between a bar and an apartment building. It’s tiny and dark and filled with teenage girls and hookers. Mickey and Ian are literally the only guys there. There’s only about a half dozen seats, and Mickey settles into the only open one while Ian stands next to him, like he’s guarding him or some shit. 

They’re appointment is at 3- they convinced Linda to let them go early, and it’s nearly 3:10 now. One of the hookers goes in before them, before Ian’s pseudonym- Darrgen, is called nearly 30 minutes later. 

Ian hands the secretary $175 in cash, and Mickey feels kind of guilty for the hours Ian’s going to have to do to make up for it.

He’s grumpy and needs to piss by the time they make their way down the cramped, dark hallway to the last door on the right, as the secretary pointed out to them. 

“Waited 30 fucking minutes, and for this shit?” he mumbles out to Ian and he shoves open the door, not even caring to knock. He’d expected some 100 year old dude with bad breath in a cramped office, not this. 

The check-up room is rather nice, with white walls and a dark floor, with a table, desk, and a few other, comfy-looking chairs. There’s charts of pregnant people plastered all around, displaying the babies inside. The doctor herself is rather young, and has long, dark hair and vaguely Arab features. Mickey wonders how she ended up in a dingy clinic in the Southside of Chicago. 

“Hey!” she says as soon as they come in, her teeth very nearly blinding Mickey. “Darrgen?”

“Er, yeah,” Ian says. “I’m Ian and this is Mickey.” 

Mickey manages to give a sharp nod, and plops down in one of the extra chairs. He was right, they _are_ comfy. 

“Well, I’m Sofia Turan. I’ve been an obstetrician for nearly 7 years now, but I’ve only been stationed in Chicago for 2.”

Mickey waves her off. He’s already been here longer than he wanted to, and all the people and close quarters are making him antsy to get back home. “We’re just here to make sure I can pop this kid out without any difficulties.” 

Turan chuckles at him. She rolls her fancy chair over to the other side of her desk and snaps on some of her gloves. “Let’s get to it, then. Why don’t you get up on the table for me and lift your shirt up?”

Mickey does as she asks, hating the way the paper crinkles underneath him. He tugs his shirt up, resting it just beneath his chest. Ian looks fucking stupid, sitting by himself and staring at Mickey. Turan comes over and gently rests a hand on the top of his stomach. 

“And exactly how far along are you?”

“28 weeks,” he grunts out. She begins to move her fingers down his abdomen, pressing them down and over the center of his belly. “What are you doing?” 

“Feeling the baby to get an estimate on size,” she responds. “I’d say it’s around the right size, which is 10 inches. That’s good- most male pregnancy babies are a little on the smaller size. Do you know what you’re having?” 

“A girl,” Ian pipes up from his seat. Turan nods at him. 

“Exciting,” she says, then grabs her stethoscope and presses it against the side of Mickey’s stomach after settling it in her ears. Mickey hisses at the unexpected cold. “Strong heartbeat,” she comments. “Have you been able to feel her moving?” 

“Yeah, like all the fucking time. It’s doesn’t matter if I’m asleep, taking a shit, or sucking him off” (he thrusts his thumb at Ian, who’s face immediately turns red) “she’s always using my stomach as a fucking punching bag.” 

The doctor nods. “That’s excellent. Another problem with male pregnancies is low fetal activity, which can be a side effect of low weight. Can you lay back for me?” 

Mickey does as he’s told, tugging his shirt back over his stomach. Turan grabs a flexible measuring tape and then feels his waist up, saying she’s feeling for his pelvic bones. Once she finds them or whatever, she has him lift his hips up so she can wrap the measuring tape around him. 

“Your pelvis is fine as well,” she reports. “Seems like this is going to be the most low-risk male pregnancy I’ve ever seen. Usually pregnant carriers have a shitton of things wrong with them, but everything seems to be functioning here.” 

“Yay,” Mickey says dryly. 

“Any change in breast tissues?” she asks then, and Mickey sputters. 

“Um… well…” 

Turan sighs. “Why don’t you just lift your shirt up all the way for me?” 

Mickey does, tucking it under his chin, and squirms a little. He feels weird with his whole torso on display with a complete stranger, and absolutely refuses to look at Ian, though he can feel his gaze burning into him. 

“Ah, yes,” the doctor says, then reaches out a fucking touches him. He flinches away from her touch, but she doesn’t let up, chasing after him until she’s poking his chest with her fingers. “Do you wear a bra?” 

“No, I don’t wear a fucking bra!” he spits out. 

She shrugs. “If you ever experience soreness or achiness, you might want to consider it. Buy a really soft one, but make sure it’s not too loose. You can also get nursing bras, if you’re planning on that. Your nipples are really well developed for nursing, I’m impressed. Most carriers can’t breastfeed.” 

She gestures for him to pull his shirt back down and to sit up, and he does, glancing at Ian. Truth to be told, they never talked about _breastfeeding._ Hell, Mickey had never even thought about it. Though, he supposes the kid has to eat, and they’re poor as shit, so breastfeeding might not be such a terrible idea, even though the idea makes him want to throw up. 

She weighs him and measures him, and he comes in at 172 and 5’7 ½”, both of which has him a little embarrassed, mainly because Ian says, “Wow, that’s heavier than me.” 

Thankfully, the doctor says it’s mainly baby weight, and that you’re supposed to gain between 25 and 35 pounds by the end of pregnancy, but that doesn’t stop Mickey’s face from burning. 

She takes a blood sample from his arm once he’s settled next to Ian, and says that she’ll call them within 2-3 days with the results, then takes out a clipboard and asks him to list all of his symptoms. 

“Um… okay… like even ones I no longer get?” he asks, and she nods in response. “Okay, well, at the beginning, I used to throw up first thing in the morning, though that’s gone now, and I would get really bad headaches. They’ve lessened, I guess, but I still get them from time to time. Um… my gums bleed when I brush my teeth and my nose gets stuffed up after I wake up or I sit down for too long. And I’m so fucking tired.” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, I think that’s about it.” 

“Any weird cravings?” Turan asks, her pencil nearly having a stroke across her paper from moving too fast. 

“No?” Mickey says. “I’ve just been hungrier, I guess.” 

She nods and jots down some more notes, then asks if he has any pressing questions. He does, actually. 

“Yeah. How the fuck am I going to push this kid out of me? It’s not like I have a pussy.” 

Turan glances up and raises an eyebrow at him. “Do they not teach you carrier anatomy in high school?” 

“Uh, no? Why the fuck would they do that? I also dropped out before I had to take health, thank Jesus. He’s taken it, though,” Mickey says, nodding at Ian, who confirms that their school doesn’t teach about carriers. 

“Huh,” the doctor says, then points to a poster on her wall, buried in between a bunch of baby posters. It’s a guy’s reproductive system, with the dick and balls and everything, but this one looks a little bit different. She stands up and walks over, pointing towards an upside-down v shape that’s right above what Mickey knows is the bladder. 

“That’s your uterus,” she says as-matter-of-factly. “And its opening is called the cervix. Now, contrary to what you might think, the vagina is actually this bit right here, inside you.” She traces her finger down to a short tube that ends at the- “And this is the rectum. Now, this bit right here that connects your vagina to your rectum is your vaginal orifice. It’s what you refer to as the “pussy.” Currently, it’s flipped backwards, and is sealed off so no harmful bacteria can get into your uterus. It’s like that most of the time, except during sex, and excluding pregnancy sex, when it widens, for well, procreational reasons. Now, when you’re in labor, your vaginal orifice is actually going to flip itself and start to dilate for the baby to come out. Your baby’s going to take a very short trip down your rectum–” she continues tracing her finger down– “and then it’ll pop out of what is technically called the cloaca, but you know as your anus, and then you’ll have a baby.” 

Mickey’s stunned into silence. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a while. “You’re saying I have to shit this baby out?” 

“Not shit, exactly,” Turan says. “Your rectum will be shut off to your digestive system before you go into labor, and it’ll clean itself out before delivery. No shitting here, until after the baby is born.”

“Jesus.” Mickey’s hands find his hair. He had been half hoping that he would have to get a C-section, that he wouldn’t have to go into labor, because it’s not like he has a fucking vagina, but now he has to shit his daughter out?  
“Are you okay?” Ian asks him gently, sensing his distress and placing a hand on his arm. 

“Fuck,” he says in response. 

“Trust me, you are not the first carrier to give birth, not by a long shot,” Turan says. “This has been happening for thousands of years, and it’s completely safe and natural. And I mean, if something does go wrong, you’ll be at a hospital and they’ll be able to help you.” 

That word strikes fear through Mickey- _hospital._ He’s always hated them. The only way he was able to stand his last hospital trip was because he was severely concussed. He doesn’t like strangers, and the idea of strangers seeing him when he’s most vulnerable- literally _giving birth,_ makes his hands shake and his stomach roll. 

“No, no, no hospitals!” he bursts out. “I’m not having her at a fucking hospital!” 

“Okay, you don’t have to,” Ian soothes, and his voice swirls around Mickey’s head, and he finds himself leaning towards the other boy. 

“You could give birth in a clinic or at home,” Turan supplies. “A clinic would most likely just be you and a midwife, a lot less stressful. If you give birth at home, you could do a water birth, which is usually less mess, or a completely natural birth if you aren’t comfortable in water.” 

“I-i don’t know,” Mickey says weakly. His hands are still shaking at the thought of a _fucking hospital,_ and _this might be more terrifying than he originally thought._

“Alright, that’s fine. You still have another 2 months,” the doctor says. She grabs something off her desk and hands it to Ian. “Here’s a pamphlet with a bunch of birth information. It goes over home births and has some good diagrams. I think we’re good here- I’ll get you the blood tests back soon for any potential harms. Other than that, just listen to your body,” she adds to Mickey. “If you’re hungry, eat. If you’re tired, sleep. If you need to piss, piss. You’ve already paid, I take it?” Ian nods. “Well, in that case, I’d say have a good day and I hope everything turns out alright for you.” 

Ian thanks her and leads Mickey out, who still can’t wrap his head around _giving birth._ They take the L back to Canaryville, and Mickey has no shame in leaning up against Ian’s shoulder. Ian wraps an arm around him, hugging him close.

“You okay? You didn’t look so good back there,” he says. 

“Just- I’m kinda scared, man,” Mickey whispers out. “What if something goes wrong?” 

Ian smiles, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. The old lady across the train glares at them. “Nothing’s gonna go wrong,” he reassures him. “We can watch videos to figure out what we’re gonna do.” 

Mickey recoils at that, his stomach lurching at the idea of looking at a _vagina_. “I ain’t watching birth videos!” he hisses out. “The fact that I’m gonna have to do it is more than enough!” 

That night, Mickey shoves his way in between Ian’s legs, his back to Ian’s chest, and demands Ian read him the birth pamphlet. Fuck off, he likes the way Ian’s voice sounds. Ian does, and well, Mickey is _horrified._ Contractions for 24 hours? No thanks. There’s a section for carrier birth, and apparently Ian is supposed to open his asshole up for the baby because while his cervix will be dilating the whole 10 centimeters, his asshole will only dilate to 5. 

“Jesus Christ, can this get any more wrong?” Mickey mumbles out, but then Ian reads the section of tearing during birth and Mickey is mistaken. 

Eventually, Mickey settles on a home birth. He knows that a midwife clinic won’t be _that_ bad, but still, it’s a stranger and he’s in a strange place. When he tells Ian though, the other boy panics. 

“You want _me_ to deliver the baby? What the fuck Mickey, I don’t know how!” 

“That’s great, but I’ll be too busy shoving her out. And if contractions really last 24 fucking hours, I’ll be too tired to catch her. So let’s not have our daughter’s first experience be how hard the floor is, yeah?”

In the end, Ian agrees to a home birth, with the strict rule of having a third person there. Mickey would much prefer it to be just the two of them, but he supposes he can compromise. Which leads to the most awkward conversation he’s ever had. 

“You want me to what?”

“Just be there. You don’t have to actually do anything, just be there in case something goes wrong.” 

“This is the only time I will ever say this- I’m not a real nurse, I work at an old people’s home!” The look on Veronica’s face is outstanding. How one person can look so disgusted, Mickey has no idea. 

He hasn’t really talked to Veronica before, but he’s seen her around the neighborhood; she works at the Alibi with her boyfriend, Kyle. But he guesses she and the Gallaghers must be close, since she was the first person Ian thought of to “supervise” the birth, and had dragged Mickey over as soon as their shift ended. 

“Not like you’ll be doing any of the work,” Mickey grunted out. “You’re just there to catch her if he does something stupid.” 

Veronica turns to him. “I still can’t believe you managed to knock Mickey Milkovich up,” she says to Ian, who spreads his hands. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey snaps back. “What do you want, huh? You want money, drugs, booze? What will it take to get you to be there?” 

Veronica holds up her hands. “Jesus, I’ll do it. It’s just not everyday the kid next door asks you to be the midwife in his kid’s birth. How come Fiona isn’t doing this? What, she knows she’s gonna be busy in 2 months?” 

Ian scratched the back of his neck. “She’s um- she’s not really _supportive,_ I guess. She says she’s not going to do any work for this baby.” 

Veronica shakes her head. “Honestly, if I were you, I would’ve aborted the thing,” she says, turning to Mickey. “But hey, s’long as you got him, I guess you’re pretty set.” 

***

Ian’s created a mental checklist of all the things they’re going to need to do before the baby gets here. So far, it consists of: 

  * Figure out what we’re going to do for birth
  * Buy a stroller 
  * Get clothes, diapers, blankets, pacifiers, bottles, a breast pump?
  * Pick out a name



He’s already done the first two- he and Mickey have a solid birth plan (though they’re both nervous as hell) and Mickey stole a stroller in the middle of daylight from a fucking part (thankfully, it was the world’s most generic stroller so nobody could point it out). The third one is easy enough- they’ve saved up quite a shitton of money for living in the Southside, and he’s pretty sure they can manage to find the cheapest stuff. Names, though? Ian has no idea where to start. He manages to grab Mickey one night, though, after the war movie he was watching with Carl ended, and shoos him away to their bedroom where they bicker over baby names until midnight. 

It’s like Mickey doesn’t want to name their daughter _anything._ Ian reads names off of a baby website, and Mickey turns down almost every single one, except for 9- Abby, Lily, Ava, Hannah, Caroline, Allison, Cate (he specifically said with a “C”), Natalie and Mikayla (which Ian hates, but whatever). 

“This is getting us nowhere,” Ian states, throwing his pencil down after crossing out yet another name (Julie). 

Mickey throws his hands up. “Well, what the fuck did you expect? That all of a sudden we’d both come up with the perfect name and everything would be perfect and we’d go pick dandelions and braid each other’s hair? Jesus Christ, there’s like a billion names out there! And anyway, you’re the one with like 10 younger siblings. How did your parents pick their names?” 

Ian sighs and rubs his eyes. He’s learned not to snap at Mickey when he’s like this. “Well, Deborah was my mom’s grandmother’s name, and Carl was the name of my mom’s dealer. And Liam, well… Frank was actually the one to name him. He said something along the lines of ‘If he doesn’t look Irish, he should at least have an Irish name.’”

“Well, I’m not naming her after anyone in my family,” Mickey says as-matter-of-factly. “We’re male heavy anyway, and all the women are named like _Danica_ or _Alina_ or fucking _Januszy._ ”

“What was your mom’s name?” Ian asks gently. He knows it’s a touchy subject. Mickey’s never liked talking about his mom who died 4 years ago, but it was always clear he loved her and misses her.

“Laura,” he says quietly now, glancing down at his hands. 

Ian types something into Google, and says, “Oh. It means victory and strength. I kind of like that name.” 

“I’m not naming our daughter after my dead mother,” Mickey snaps. “She deserves to be her own person.” 

“Okay, fine. What about for her middle name?”

Mickey hesitates, then sighs and nods. “Guess she’s gotta have one of those, doesn’t she?” 

Ian can’t help but smile. At least they’ve gotten that far. 

School draws nearer and nearer, and Ian dreads going back. He feels like he’s been living a fairy tale all summer with Mickey, and now he has to shatter the ice and go back to the world of tests and quizzes and teachers. At least he’ll have Mandy with him. She comes over one day, and punches Mickey on the shoulder for not seeing her in a couple of weeks, then pouts as he kicks her ass in Street Fighter. 

Ian and Mickey don’t let up on throwing out random baby names throughout the day. 

“Apple,” Ian says as he’s stacking them up. 

“Nicole,” says Mickey after the mom left with the eccentric toddler by the same name. 

They go about it for more than a week, and it’s starting to feel pointless, until… 

“Aileen,” Mickey reads out as they’re passing a dinner with the word _Aileen’s_ in bold pink letters. Ian freezes, and Mickey stares at him. 

“I… don’t hate it,” Ian says slowly. “It has a nice ring to it. It’s unique, but not like a hipster name.”

“Aileen Laura,” Mickey tries, and they stare at each other for a while. “Fuck, that’s really good. I like that,” he says, his hand brushing against the side of his stomach. He stares down at it. “Yeah, she feels like an Aileen,” he says, and Ian grins, then pounds him into their mattress later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I've exhausted how many chapters I can squeeze into one episode. This one is technically in between episode 7 and 8, though.


	11. Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here’s the way life works,” she starts, and he nods, like he’s listening. He’s not. “You suck it up, you do your work, you get your diploma, and that little piece of paper tells every other person who wanted to quit high school that you can follow through and finish something.”
> 
> “Well, you don’t have yours and you’re doing fine,” he points out. Fiona just stares at him. 
> 
> “Imma stab you in the chest,” she says after a while. “I didn’t and I still regret it.”  
> 2.08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end, folks! 
> 
> I also finally wrote in "Likin' what I like don't make me a bitch."

“School starts tomorrow,” Ian says. He and Lip are sitting on their porch, smoking a joint in between them. Ian’s enjoying his last evening of freedom. It’s Labor Day, which is really just an excuse for the Gallaghers to throw a barbecue. V and Kev came over, and Tommy from the Alibi, and Frank slunk over to steal a hotdog, then moped about Grammy before leaving shortly. 

“For you, maybe,” Lip replies, handing the joint back to Ian. He takes a long drag and blows it out slowly. Mickey enjoyed himself, he thinks, at the barbeque. He laughed at something Kev said and helped Debbie with her plate. He’s upstairs sleeping right now. He’s starting to sleep 10 hours a night, which Ian teased him about at first, then stopped when Mickey nearly gave him a black eye. 

“What do you mean?” Ian asks. 

“Oh, I’m not going back,” Lip replies, as if it’s no big deal. Ian turns and stares at his brother. 

“You’re not going back to do your senior year of school?”

“Yup.”

“Why? You only have a year left.” 

Lip plucks the joint from Ian’s fingers. “Got a kid to look after. I’m gonna need to find a job and start saving.” 

Ian can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Lip Gallagher, who has a 4.6 GPA and makes robots and does calculus for fun, is dropping out of school? It doesn’t settle in Ian’s brain. 

“Well, I have a kid as well, but I’m not dropping out of school.” 

Lip shrugs. “Well, your baby mama isn’t in school himself and can hold down a job by himself,” he retorts. “Not to mention he sold all his guns for money.” 

Fair enough. “I think you’d do better if you stayed in school. You could get a better job with a high school education,” he presses. 

Lip waves him off. “What are you, Fiona? Nah, trust me. It’s best if I drop out now. The little guy’s gonna be here soon, and Karen’s too proud to accept her mom’s help.” 

Ian’s stunned. Even though he’s going to have a kid too, he never thought about dropping out of school. It just never crossed his mind. He’s going back to his school hours at the Kash N’ Grab though, working only 10 hours a week. He supposes Lip is right– the guns Mickey sold set them off for a good start. But, he still doesn’t understand why Lip is dropping out. He knows he hates school, everyone hates school, but he’s always enjoyed learning. 

“Fiona’s gonna have your ass,” Ian comments. 

“Yeah,” Lip replies. “Gonna have to watch out for myself, huh? Hey, how’s little Aileen Laura?” 

Ian knows he said that just to change the subject, but he smiles anyway. “Good,” he says. “Mick’s sleeping right now. He’s starting to get tired as fuck all the time. I was sucking him off the other day, and I swear, he starts nodding off!”

Lip makes a face. “Though that’s hilarious and all, I did not need to know that.” 

Ian punches him in the arm and takes the joint from him. He takes a long drag and lets the smoke fill his lungs and the chemicals fill his brain, before handing it back and saying, “I’m beat, and Mick’ll be pissed at me if I don’t spoon him to sleep.” 

“Yeah, ‘night,” Lip replies, and Ian leaves him on the porch alone. 

***

Fiona will admit it, in the past few years, she’s never really been on top of the first day of school. They’re either always late, or someone is missing lunch, or wearing a dirty shirt. This year though, she’s determined. 

“Let’s go! School!” she shouts, tugging on a shirt and making her way down the hallway. “C’mon monkeys!” 

Carl’s in the bathroom, staring at his chest. Why, Fiona doesn't want to know. “Carl, come on, get out of there!” There’s only one full bathroom in the whole house, and 4 other people need to use it. 

“Our house still smells like meth,” he responds, stepping down from the step stool at the sink.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that?” she replies, patting him on the shoulder. It’s been 3 weeks, and no amount of cheap candles from the Dollar Store is going to fix that any time soon. 

Carl moves around her, heading down stairs, as Ian and Mickey’s door opens and the two of them pop out, with a “Morning, Fi!” from Ian and a grumble from Mickey. They make their way down the hall, Mickey moving significantly slower, and around Debbie, who’s wearing a black skirt and a pink shirt, the top of her hair done up in little braids. 

“Wow, you look nice, Debs!” Fiona says, and they hi-five before Debbie makes her way downstairs. Fiona moves into the boys’ bedroom. Liam is toddling around the floor, and she stoops to pick him up. “Hey, little fella!” she says. “Did you get out of your crib yourself?” Liam babbles as she settles him on her hip. He got moved into the boys’ room after Ian and Mickey got their own room, from Debbie’s constant complaints. Fiona’s in a good mood this morning- everything’s moving as it should be, and she feels like nothing could damper her, not even the five missed calls from Steve last night. 

But then she turns around to find Lip still asleep in his bunk bed. 

“Lip, come on. Wake up.” When he doesn’t respond, she tickles his foot that’s sticking out, and he groans. “Gallagher tickle spot,” she says, bouncing Liam on her hip. “C’mon. First day of school, senior.” 

Lip sits up and fits a cigarette in his mouth. “Not going.” 

“You sick?”

“No. Dropped out.” He sits up and lights his cigarette. 

“What are you talking about?” Did she hear correctly? He has one year left, and he’s going to drop out now? 

“Quit,” he replies simply, jumping down. 

“You only have a year left,” Fiona snaps. 

“Gotta get a job,” he says, making his way towards the bathroom. “Take care of Karen and my kid.” 

Fiona sighs and watches him shut the bathroom door. Ian’s having a kid too, but he’s not as stupid as to drop out! _Whatever,_ she thinks as she sets Liam down in his crib and grabs one of his shirts off the floor to change him. _He’s old enough to know what he wants now. And if he wants to drop out, that’s on him, I guess._

***

It’s… weird with Ian being back at school. Mickey’s used to him being around 24/7, but now the Kash N’ Grab feels quiet and empty without his constant chattering and stupid jokes. It’s boring as fuck now, and since Mickey only has the same 5 magazines to entertain him, he’s starting talking to Aileen more, telling her about how bitchy Linda is being, or how slow the old lady was. 

Carl and Debbie have employed him as their official tutor now, as Fiona’s still working by the time his shift ends and Ian and Lip have their own homework. He teaches Carl long division and corrects Debbie’s work on her grammar pages. The first time Ian saw Mickey at the kitchen table, working with Carl and Debbie, he immediately turned red and he disappeared upstairs for an hour until Mickey found him and demanded to tell him what happened. 

“I don’t know,” Ian had said, his face still bright red. “It was just like seeing you helping kids with homework… did something to me. It’s like I almost saw into the future,” he added quietly. 

Mickey’s horniness is starting to decrease now. He feels more tired than ever, and having a basketball permanently attached to his torso is making him feel less attractive, despite Ian’s constant reassurances. He still gets Ian’s dick, though now it’s usually one or two times a week, instead of every day. His back is hurting like a bitch more now, and when he sits down for a while behind the Kash N’ Grab register, his legs fall asleep. 

He has his first Braxton-Hicks contractions when Ian’s tugging on a shirt one morning before school. It feels like a cramp in the top of his stomach, then a twinge on his side. He swears loudly and hunches over, rubbing at his stomach. The feeling fades after about 30 seconds, and Ian is freaking out, but then Mickey remembers something about fake contractions from the baby books Ian reads. 

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles out when Ian continues hovering. “Didn’t you say you had to piss?” 

Ian got up extra early this morning, much to Mickey’s dislike, saying he had to get to school early for his chemistry study group. Why the fuck his teacher thinks it’s a great idea to give out a quiz in the first week of school, Mickey has no idea. Ian’s obsessed with getting good grades this year, and he pours over his textbooks at night and asks Mickey to quiz him on different terms. Mickey wants to be nice, but… Ian’s dumb as a doornail. Nothing about math or chemistry or Spanish seems to stick in his head, and his writing sucks ass. It’s such a contrast between Lip and Ian, though Mickey thinks it’s rather ironic, that the smartest brother dropped out of school and the dumbest brother is killing himself with homework. 

Mickey manages to fall into a state of half-sleeping, half-awake, and is about to doze off again, but then a thumping from the back staircase jerks him awake. 

“Fucking Gallaghers,” he mumbles out as he shoves himself off his nice, warm bed and makes his way to the bathroom, taking a piss, splashing water on his face, and brushing his teeth before tugging Ian’s hoodie on and stumbling into the kitchen, still half asleep. Too bad he can’t drink coffee, he could really use one black right now. 

“Coach got arrested for exposing himself at the park,” Ian’s saying as he comes down. Fiona’s at the counter, making sandwiches for school, and Carl and Debbie are at the table. Carl’s wearing his football helmet, which must’ve been the thing that was making all the noise. 

“He was peeing behind a shed. A couple of 7-year-old girls saw _it_ ,” Debbie says seriously. 

“Who did?” Mickey mumbles out, grabbing the cereal from Carl and plopping himself down in a chair. 

“Carl’s football coach,” Ian explains to him over his shoulder. “He’s in jail now, so the season’s canceled.” 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. He remembers when Mandy used to be obsessed with football players and would make him take her to their games. “No shit? Coach Kane?” Coach Kane was also a history teacher at the high school, and Mickey’s pretty sure he was a pedophile. 

Ian nods as Carl says, “I don’t get it. Half the world has penises, why do people get so upset about seeing them?”

Mickey pours himself some milk and takes a large bite of his cereal. “Context,” he manages to get out around his mouthful. 

“What’s that?” 

“When, how, where, and with who,” Fiona responds, taking a bowl of dry cereal over to Liam, who’s babbling away in his high chair. 

“Ian, you played,” Carl says. “You could coach.” 

Mickey knows that's _way_ too much on Ian’s plate right now, and it’s proven as Ian stands up, grabbing his chemistry textbook that he had been pouring over at the counter. “Uh, I can’t. I got to work after school, bud. Sorry.” He gives Carl a pat on the shoulder, moving over to grab his lunch bag. 

“You going to school early?” Fiona asks. 

“Chemistry study group,” Ian responds. “I’ll see you later, Mick,” he adds to Mickey. 

“Can you coach?” Carl asks Fiona, who declines it. Mickey thanks his lucky stars Carl doesn’t ask him. 

“Ask Lip,” Fiona suggests.

“He won’t do it.” Carl sounds so depressed. And over what? Football is stupid. 

Fiona shrugs. “Well, wake him and ask. Can’t hurt.” 

“LIP!” Carl screams suddenly, and Mickey jumps, flinging cereal all over the table. 

“Jesus Christ, kid!” he complains as Fiona throws her hands up and says, “I coulda done that!” 

Debbie thwacks Carl on his helmet. 

“Upstairs, please.” 

Mickey scoops up the cheerios that fell on the table and puts them back in his bowl. It takes Carl all of one minute to come back downstairs and announce, “I couldn’t wake him.” 

Fiona sighs and walks over to Liam, starting to take him out of his high chair. “Debbie, go brush your teeth,” she says. “And tell Lip that ice cubes are going down his shirt next. He’s missed a week of school already.” She lifts Liam out, setting him on his feet. “Mickey, do you think you could clean the high chair tray before work? It’s getting disgusting.” 

“Sure, whatever,” Mickey replies and pours himself another bowl of cereal, just as the door opens and two people walk in. 

The woman is stupidly hot, with the world’s tallest heels, and she’s yapping away on her cell phone. The man comes in behind her, wearing a leather jacket and holding Starbucks coffees and a box. 

“Morning, Gallaghers!” he says like he lives there. “Who likes coffee and donuts?” 

Carl grabs the box from him, and Mickey figures this must be _Steve,_ Fiona’s boyfriend who ditched her a few months ago and then showed up, from Brazil with a wife. 

“Double latte, two sugars,” he says, moving over to Fiona, after throwing Mickey a glance, and handing her one of the coffees. Mickey grabs the pink donut from the box and shoves it in his mouth. God, that’s good. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hears Fiona say, then Steve says, “I thought you only had 4 brothers.” 

Mickey glances over at him, swallowing his donut. Steve’s pointing right at him.

“Ain’t a Gallagher,” he grunts out. 

“Wow, man,” Steve says, his eyebrows raised, and Mickey knows his eyes have found his abdomen. “Up the poop shoot, huh?” 

“I have a glock upstairs with the name of your brains on it,” Mickey replies, glaring at him. 

Steve raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, my bad.” 

“Ian’s baby daddy,” Fiona responds, grabbing the latte from Steve. Steve’s wife, or whatever, moves past them, still chatting on her cellphone. Fiona moves over to the washing machine and picks out a pair of jeans, as Steve says, “Sorry, _Ian’s_ baby daddy?” Mickey shoots him a glare. “Well, we were out getting coffees, and I thought, hey, school’s started, why not pop by and give the kids a ride like the old days?”

Mickey glances over at the Brazilian wife, who’s still talking in Portuguese or what-the-fuck-ever, but is now eyeing him up and down. He gives her the finger and stands up, depositing his bowl in the sink. She gasps and says something rapid-fire into her phone. 

“Bought a coffee for Lip,” he hears Steve say and Fiona moves over to him, throwing the orange juice carton in the fridge. 

“Please, stop trying to make this seem normal,” Fiona says. Mickey grabs the tray from Liam’s high chair, patting the kid on his head as he toddles past him. He wets some paper towels and wipes it down, making a face because Fiona was right, this has been getting _disgusting._

“Lip won’t get up,” Debbie says, coming back downstairs. “Ooh, thanks for the donuts, _Jimmy_.” 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Thought his name was Steve,” he says to Fiona, who shrugs. 

“Who the fuck knows anymore?” she responds. 

Debbie and Carl grab their lunches as Mickey wipes the tray dry, moving around them to fit it back on the high chair. 

“Thanks for the donuts, Jimbo,” Carl says, waving at Steve on their way out. 

Jimmy/Steve moves over to Fiona by the sink, and Mickey takes that as his cue to leave, so he makes his way back upstairs, ready to take a catnap before he needs to leave for work. The door to Lip and Carl’s room is still shut. 

Ian joins him at Kash N’ Grab at 3 that afternoon, and they fuck an hour later in the back room, when there aren’t a lot of customers. He’s on his back, legs up by Ian’s ears, and he knows he’s going to be feeling this in his thighs later, but he couldn’t care less because Ian’s ramming his prostate-head on, and he’s jerking himself off slowly and it’s so good, and he feels so _full_ , and he’s about to come- 

“Hello, boys.” 

Ian drops Mickey’s legs, and Mickey jerks up, as quickly as he can, with his stomach in the way. Frank fucking Gallagher is staring at them through rows of beer. 

“Front door was locked, so I came in the back,” he says, then studies the two of them. “No pun intended. Might wanna check the locks…” 

And then his ugly face is gone, and they tug up their pants. 

“What the fuck,” Mickey hisses out to Ian. 

“Just let me handle it, okay?” Ian replies, throwing Mickey his hoodie. 

“I see that you’re preoccupied,” Frank says when they make their way back into the store. Ian’s standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, like nothing’s wrong. “So why don’t we put this little loan on my tab?” 

He moves past them, and Mickey stares at him. Just before he exits, Frank turns around a saulutes them. “As you were sailors,” he says. 

Ian rolls his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey laughs out. “That the kind of leadership you plan on bringing to the army?" 

"Said this morning's bottom," Ian shoots back. 

"Whatever," he replies. "Likin' what I like don't make me a bitch. Anyway, I can’t believe we’re gonna have a kid with his fucking genes.” 

“Technically, she won’t have his genes,” Ian replies, moving over to the register, to check what Frank stole. 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure kids have their grandparents’ genes, dumbass,” he says. 

“Yeah, Frank’s not my dad. My biological dad, anyway.” 

“What?” Mickey had no clue about that. 

Ian just shrugs. “Lip and I did paternity tests a while ago, when we found out that Liam is Frank’s kid. Turns out, I’m not. My real father’s one of Frank’s brothers, though, the DNA was close, but not exact.” 

Mickey lets out a laugh. That is not what he was expecting, at all. “Wait, so your mom fucked one of her brother-in-laws?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Jesus. And I thought my family was fucked up.” 

“Sorry we didn’t get to finish,” Ian says, flipping the CLOSED sign on the door to OPEN. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” 

“Yeah, you fucking better, Firecrotch,” Mickey grumbles out in response. 

***

Lip’s sleeping in today. He’s spent the last week going around the whole fucking Southside of Chicago, looking at stores for any _Help Wanted_ signs. He’s found a few, and gave them his resume (beefed up, of course, he was so not in choir in middle school), and is just waiting to hear back. 

It’s nice to sleep in once in a while, of course, until Fiona slaps him in the face. 

“Jesus!” he snaps, jerking away. 

“I’ve covered for you while you’ve been going through this shit, but enough,” she says, bending over and picking up his clothes that he dumped on the floor last night before crashing. “You’ve been lying up here for a week. Shit is what we all go through, you’ve still gotta get up and get shit done.” 

“Is that from a Toby Keith song?” Lip asks. 

“School. Now,” Fiona sighs out. 

“I dropped out,” Lip calls after her. He did. Simple as that. He’s got a kid to support now, and he’ll need to start saving up money. If his kid brother did it, he can too. 

“It’s your senior year! You’re graduating!” Fiona protests. 

“No.” 

“Get up, and get to school!” Fiona hits him again. She’s very pissed at him now, he can see the way her eyes flash. 

“Well, you quit,” Lip protests. He finds it ironic that the person who dropped out the same time he did is giving him shit about it. 

“Because Mom and Dad were hooked on oxy! You were 13, don’t try to win this argument. You got the golden ticket. You know it, and I know it.”

Lip just waits until she’s finished with her spiel, before he says, “I’m gonna get a job.”

“After you graduate,” Fiona says. 

“I don’t need another year of crappy public school education.” And he _doesn’t_ \- anything he can learn is school he can learn on the internet, and so much more. 

Fiona climbs onto the ladder of his bunk bed. “Here’s the way life works,” she starts, and he nods, like he’s listening. He’s not. “You suck it up, you do your work, you get your diploma, and that little piece of paper tells every other person who wanted to quit high school that _you_ can follow through and finish something.”

“Well, you don’t have yours and you’re doing fine,” he points out. Fiona just stares at him. 

“Imma stab you in the chest,” she says after a while. “I didn’t and I still regret it.”

“Who’s stopping you?” Lip fires back. 

“Uh, Debbie, Carl, Liam, you?” 

“I don’t do nanny favors,” Lip says and Fiona steps down from his bed. 

“You’re going back to school,” she says, as if the argument’s over. 

“Fine,” Lip says, jumping down from the top bunk. “I’ll go back when you do.” 

“What?” 

“Well, you get your diploma, I’ll get mine,” he explains, bending down and tugging his jeans on. “Mickey can help out with Liam. Debbie and Carl can take care of themselves. I’ll go back, you’ll go back. We’ll graduate together. Walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand.” Fiona glares at him. He’s mentally preparing himself to be screamed at again, then- 

“Alright. Fuck it. Sure.” She holds out her hand, and he grasps it, and they shake. “Put Liam in a stroller, we’ll hit the register’s office.” Lip nods, and that’s that. 

He’s already missed two periods by the time he and Fiona get to school, so he texts Karen and asks her to meet him in the first floor bathroom. She does, as soon as she gets his text. That’s one of things Lip likes about Karen– she doesn't bombard him with questions like other girls would, or make up excuses. She just goes along with whatever he says. 

When she gets there, she hoists herself up on the windowsill and pulls out her joints, grabbing one and handing it to Lip. 

“Thought you dropped out,” she says. 

“Nah, I made a deal with Fiona,” he replies, taking the joint from her fingers. “She’ll blow her end, and I’ll be back home chillin’ in a week.” He lights the joint just as Karen says, “I’m gonna give the baby up for adoption.” 

Lip’s heart stops. “Sometimes I wonder if getting high makes it easier for me to keep up with you, or more difficult.” Just an hour before, he had been making plans to take care of his child after Karen pushes him out, and now he won’t get to have that anymore? 

“I thought I was in love with Jody, I’m not. I thought it would be cool to have a baby and love it, but, no, I suck at it. I thought about aborting it, but I’m this far along, and even though I don’t want it, other people probably do, so I figure, why not suck it up a few more months, vag it out, and sell it.” 

It might be the drugs, but Lip can’t comprehend what she’s saying. “Vag it out?” he repeats. 

“The truth hurts, but…” Karen takes the joint from his lips and places it between her own. “Still the truth!” 

Lip has had this… fantasy… running through his head as of late. His kid and Ian’s kid are going to be born around the same time. He and Ian would struggle through fatherhood together, hold each other’s kids, let their kids play together as cousins, support each other, deal with dirty diapers together, go to fucking softball games together, celebrate their kids’ birthdays together, deal with their kids’ first heartbreaks together, and now? 

Lip stares at Karen as she takes a drag. 

“Well, you know, if you are gonna let the baby live, maybe you should stop smoking weed?” 

Karen exhales. “Weren’t Monica and Frank on acid the whole time you were in vitro?” she asks. 

Lip thinks about it for a second. “Uh, shrooms, mostly.” 

Karen makes a _see?_ face. “Well, do you want to go to some adoption agencies with me later? I need someone to play the dad, sign the paperwork. You could help me pick out a good buyer.” 

He can’t believe this is happening. It’s funny almost, that he thought _Mickey_ would be the one to do this, to give the kid up because he doesn’t want it. But Karen? Maybe Lip can’t believe it because it’s happening to him. Thankfully, the appearance of Mr. Heely, his guidance counselor, is a good distraction from Karen’s question. She leaves, and Mr. Heely yells at him about his schedule, and tells him he’s going to go to college.

He goes with Karen to a Catholic adoption agency after school, and her only question is how much they’re paying. When the old lady says they won’t get paid, Karen crosses it off her list. They go to a second one, and when Lip asks where the kid will be placed, Karen snaps at him. As they’re riding the L back to the Southside, Lip realizes that Karen doesn’t even give two shits about their _child._ She just wants money. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how Ian and Mickey have it so _good,_ they’re going to be raising their daughter, together, but then how the one thing Lip actually wants in his life, is being ripped away from him. Then he throws a chair through the window of his 4th-period history class, and gets expelled. 

***

Mickey’s dick is in Ian’s mouth, he’s making it up to him, just like he promised. Ian’s hand is resting on the side of Mickey’s stomach, and his fingers find the other’s freakishly long ones, and intertwines them. 

“God, so good, Ian,” Mickey pants out. His body is hot and tingly, and he can feel his orgasm building until he’s coming into Ian’s mouth. He lets out a groan, his eyes slipping shut as Ian pops off his dick. He reaches out blindly, and finds Ian’s shoulders.

Ian chuckles and stands up, pressing close into Mickey, who unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants down, getting his hands around his _glorious_ length. He jerks Ian until he’s coming as well, spilling into Mickey’s hands. Ian grabs the back of his neck and smashes their faces together, just as voices start to rise from downstairs. Angry voices. 

“The fuck is that?” Mickey mumbles out. Ian frowns, glancing behind him at the door. Mickey grabs a tissue from the bedside table and wipes his hands off, tossing it in the general direction of the trashcan. They tug their pants up and make their way downstairs, to where Lip is in the middle of a heated argument with Fiona. 

“So what, you want me to bust my ass? Get a diploma and a high-paying job so I can buy you all houses and shit while you lay around doing fuck all?” Lip bursts out. 

Mickey and Ian glance at each other, stalling on the stairs. Mickey knows what this is about. Fiona forced Lip to go back to school yesterday, and he was not happy about it. He wanted to drop out and get a job to care of his meth baby he made with that blonde Jackson chick. Waste of time, if you ask Mickey. 

Lip screams at Fiona for a bit more, before Fiona snaps, “School, or out.” 

“What?” 

“My job is to keep this house going.” Mickey peers into the living room. Carl and Debbie are there, along with Fiona’s maybe-boyfriend and his maybe-wife. Shit, they have an audience. “I’m busting my ass for you, working 8 jobs, making meals, keeping everything straight. Your job is school! School, or leave!” 

Without another word, Lip brushes past Mickey and Ian, running upstairs. Fiona stomps away into the kitchen. Carl and Debbie are standing around, not sure what to do, so Mickey and Ian move them into the kitchen, where dinner is waiting. Ian places his hand on Carl’s shoulder. 

Mickey’s helping to set the table, and Ian’s babbling at Liam when Lip comes back down with his backpack in his hands. 

“What are you doing?” Fiona demands, stomping over to him. 

“Well, I’m not going back to school, so I guess that means I’m leaving,” Lip says simply, and walks out. He slams the door on his way out, and everyone watches him leave, except Carl, who chases after him. Fiona turns around and stares at Ian, who just holds onto Debbie. 

Dinner is tense and awkward, even Jimmy/Steve’s wife doesn’t say anything. Later, when Ian is quiet at bedtime, Mickey wraps his arms around him, their chests pressing against each other. Ian’s hand finds his stomach, as it always does at night, and he rubs circles, more comforting to himself than Aileen, who was rather wriggly that evening. Mickey doesn’t say anything, he doesn't need to, he just lets Ian tuck his head under his chin and breathe. 

***

Ian can’t get used to the house without Lip. A week goes by, then another week, then a month, and he still doesn't return. There’s an extra seat at the kitchen table, and Ian can’t joke about how much school sucks to him anymore. Carl and Debbie are quiet, and Fiona’s more irritable now. But she doesn't say anything anymore when Jimmy/Steve stops by, bringing coffee for her and Ian, tea for Mickey, and donuts for everyone. 

It’s just him and Mickey playing Street Fighter now, and there’s no one banging on the bathroom door anymore, screaming at him to finish showering. But he’s got better things to worry about. 

Like the fact that Mickey’s now in his 8th month. He’s fucking huge now, and calls himself a whale one morning while getting dressed. He leans heavily on the table when getting up, demands back massages from Ian every night, and sleeps with a pillow tucked between his legs. He practically lives in the bathroom now, and after their shift one day, Mickey asks Linda if he can take maternity leave. Ian thinks she would deny him it, but she nods, her eyes soft, and her hand finds her own stomach. Her due date is soon as well, about a week before Mickey’s. It seems like everyone’s baby is going to be born at the same time. 

October brings wind and cold weather, and Mickey stays inside for long now, making a dent in the living room couch. He starts to look after Liam, since he’s no longer working, and Ian comes home one day to find his brother’s tiny hand pressed up against Mickey’s stomach, who’s saying, “There’s a little baby in there. She’s your niece. Not that you’d even know what that is, of course.” 

Ian gets a punch to his abs for cooing about it later. 

Ian and Mickey take a trip to the Northside on Columbus Day, which public schools are nice enough to give off. Ian found an old thrift store that claimed to have a large baby section, and it does. Ian doesn’t mention it, but he notices the way Mickey’s eyes light up when he sees all the tiny baby clothes. 

Since Aileen will be born in the dead of winter (at lease, according to Chicago weather), they buy her blankets and jackets and hats and mittens, on top of jumpsuits and sleepers and onesies. Ian made the mistake of throwing a bright red onesie into their cart, before Mickey snapped at him, “Pastels only!”

They battle against the wind to a Walmart, where they buy pacifiers and bottles and diapers and the world’s cheapest stroller. Ian throws in a breast pump, to which Mickey says, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Ian shrugs. “Trust me, it’s going to get really old, having to breastfeed her all the time. This way, your nipples get a rest and I can feed her sometimes.”

“You say that word again, I’ll fuck you up,” Mickey hisses out. 

Ian smirks. “What, nipple?” 

Mickey makes a promise to shoot him later, and they pay for their shit. Between the clothes and the Walmart haul, they spend nearly $600. 

Debbie’s birthday is the next Wednesday, and as she’s shoving cake in her mouth, she says, “I wish Lip were here,” and Ian’s heart hurts. 

It’s weird. As much as he hated Lip a few months ago, he can’t seem to live without him. They’ve grown up together, only 14 months apart, they’ve shared a bedroom, clothes, sometimes food, and secrets. And Lip not being there is like a weird hole in his chest. At least he still has Mickey and Aileen. 

Ian’s reading from _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ one afternoon, while Mickey is wrapped up in two blankets on their bed like a burrito because, “It’s fucking cold, bitch.” 

“It says you’re supposed to be making colostrum now,” Ian reads off. 

Mickey makes a face. “What kinda drug is that?”

Ian smacks him lightly on the leg. “It’s like a precursor to milk. It has a bunch of antibodies and shit. It’s supposed to be coming in now.” 

“For chicks, maybe,” Mickey mumbles out, and crosses his arms over his chest. “No boobmilk here.” 

“Okay, well it always says that we could try and get it out ourselves.” 

Mickey waits a solid 9 seconds before exploding, “What the fuck, Gallagher! You’re fucking sick! No way are your teeth going _anywhere_ near my chest!” 

Ian throws his hands up. “Woah, that is not what I meant, at all! I meant like use a fucking hot towel and try to squeeze it out! We have to make sure you can even _make_ milk, or else Aileen’s not gonna have anything to eat!” 

“Fine, bitch,” Mickey grumbles out. “But no funny business, I swear to fucking god.”

Ian doesn’t even want to know what _funny business_ Mickey means as grabs a face towel from the bathroom and wets it with hot water. He doesn't find Mickey’s chest arousing. At all. He really doesn’t. Mickey’s a guy, so he’s not supposed to have tits, but right now they’re only there temporarily so Aileen can feed. It’s not that he doesn’t find them a turn-off whenever they fuck, he just doesn’t think about them too much. He’s always been an ass man, anyway. 

Back in their room, he makes Mickey lie back and lift up his shirt. He strokes a hand over his belly, drumming his fingers against the bump lightly, before laying the hot towel across his chest. Mickey hisses. 

“Jesus, that’s fucking hot!” 

“I told you it was gonna be,” Ian replies. “And anyway, you said you were cold.” 

He waits about a minute, before he takes it off and makes Mickey sit up. “Okay,” he starts. “I think I’m supposed to grab the flesh, not the nipple.”

“Jesus Christ, stop saying nipple.” 

Ian ignores him, and places his forefinger and thumb on either side of Mickey’s breast. Mickey complains about cold fingers, then shuts up when Ian starts to squeeze gently. 

“Does that hurt?” Ian probes. Mickey shakes his head. 

“Feels weird,” he mumbles out. 

“Good weird, or bad weird?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher, bad weird.”

Ian frowns. Nothing’s coming out. “Maybe I need to squeeze harder,” he says, half to himself, and tightens his fingers. It doesn’t go over well. 

“What the fuck, Ian? Ow, Jesus Christ, stop it! OW!” 

Ian jerks his hand away, just as Fiona knocks on their door. 

“Everything alright in there?” she calls. 

“Yes,” Mickey snaps back. He waits until her footsteps retreat, then snaps at Ian, “Never fucking do that again, Gallagher. That doctor bitch said I was gonna make milk, and I will, just not when you’re trying to rip my tits off my chest.” 

Ian holds his hands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bunch from Lip's pov this chapter because I was trying to highlight the differences between Ian & Mickey and Lip & Karen. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my crack!
> 
> Look for the next chapter on Thursday!


	12. Hurricane Monica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then he freezes.
> 
> Monica’s in the middle of the kitchen, holding and bouncing Liam like nothing’s fucking wrong. Frank’s hunched over the kitchen counter, buttering toast, and Debbie and Fiona seem frozen in their places.  
> 2.09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponding episodes are now at the end of each chapter summary. 
> 
> Also, the timeline in Shameless is so screwed up. In episode 8, it's supposed to be September, 'cause the kids are going back to school, and in episode 9 it's supposed to be late October/early November, 'cause Fiona mentions that it's November, but they act like 2 days has passed instead of 2 months.

Halloween rolls around, and Kev and V come over almost every night to watch scary movies with them, dragging along their prehistoric foster kid, Ethel. On Halloween night, Ian takes Debbie and Carl out trick-or-treating. Debbie’s a mermaid and Carl wanted to go as a Walking Dead zombie, but Fiona ruled that out and now he’s Superman. That doesn’t stop him from scaring Debbie any moment he can, though. Mickey and Fiona stay home to hand out candy and condoms to any kid that comes by, and later Mickey tells Ian that Fiona entertained him with stories of little Ian. 

He has another Braxton-Hicks contraction while they’re going to bed that night. Ian rubs his back through it, while he’s hunched over. Ian’s heart stops every time he has fake contractions now. They’re more frequent- about one or two each week, but he’s 3 weeks away from his due date, so Ian feels like any one of them could be the real thing. 

It’s November 5, a little bit more than 2 weeks left, when Ian wakes up before his alarm goes off. Mickey’s shuffling around in bed, trying to get comfortable. 

“Settle down,” Ian manages out, but then Mickey scoots backwards and his ass is pressed right up against Ian’s dick, and he lets out a groan. “Mick,” he sighs. 

“Sorry,” Mickey says, but his voice is quiet. Unusually quiet. 

“Y’alright?” Ian mumbles, settling his arm on Mickey’s waist once more from where it slipped off. 

“No,” Mickey replies, and that’s the most honest thing he’s ever heard come out of his mouth. Ian jerks his head up. 

“Aileen coming?” 

“No, calm your tits, man,” Mickey says, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m just… worried.”

“About what? The birth? We’ve figured that all out, and V is going to be there to help us through. We’ll be fine.”

Mickey sighs. “No, not that,” he says. “I just…I have no fucking idea how to be a dad, okay? It’s not like I have the best parenting example and I’m shit with kids, man. What if I drop her or something? What if I can’t get her to stop crying?”

Ian runs his hand up and down his arm, trying to sooth him. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures him. “We’ll figure it out together.” 

“And what if we can’t figure it out, huh? Fiona’s gonna kick us to the fucking curb.” 

Ian scoffs at that. “She’s not going to kick us out of the house. She’s not a heartless monster.” He half sits up, studying Mickey’s profile. The other boy is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, his fingers playing with each other. “And you’re not your dad,” he adds firmly. “You wanna know how I know?” 

“Enlighten me,” Mickey says dryly. 

“Because you’re keeping Aileen. Your dad would’ve killed her a long time ago and moved on. But not you. You love her. I know you do. And when you love someone, everything just comes naturally. You’re going to make a fantastic dad.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Mickey’s cheek, which is wiped off. He chuckles. “You’re gonna be great, Mick. I can’t wait.” 

Mickey doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to, because he turns his head and presses a kiss to Ian’s mouth, then settles right back down in the blankets. Ian allows himself 15 more minutes before he gets up just as his alarm starts blaring. 

“Turn that shit off,” Mickey mumbles out, sitting up slowly and arching his back until his spine cracks. 

Ian slaps at the alarm until it goes quiet, then grabs the hands Mickey’s holding out for him and hauls him to his feet. Mickey stumbles a little bit, but catches himself on Ian’s shoulders. Ian reaches out and brushes his hand along Mickey’s stomach. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” he grunts out. “Need to piss.” 

They’re walking to the bathroom, when all of a sudden Mickey stumbles again, grabbing onto the wall and letting out an “Ah, Christ!” 

Ian’s heart skips a beat. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“Jesus,” Mickey groans, spreading his legs as he stands. “Fucking hell.” 

“What happened?” Ian demands again. Mickey can’t go into labor now- they have 2 weeks left!  
“Hey, I can breathe now!” Mickey says, straightening up and taking a deep breath. “Calm down, she just dropped or whatever it’s called.”

Ian relaxes as Mickey lumbers over to the bathroom. He knows what this is, of course. He didn’t pour over pregnancy books for nothing. Aileen’s dropped down into Mickey’s pelvis, in preparation for birth. Ian’s books says it happens a few weeks before, and he guesses she chose today out of all days. Mickey’s pissing at the toilet when Ian grabs his toothbrush. It’s a miracle he still manages to make it in the toilet bowl if he can’t see anything, he thinks. 

They take a quick shower (showering together saves time), and Ian notices that Mickey’s stomach hangs lower now than it did yesterday, and that his legs are even more bowed. They pass Debbie in the hallway, who’s carrying Liam out of his room, and offers them a bright, “Morning!” 

“I got ROTC sign-ups today after school,” Ian says as he throws Mickey his favorite sweater (it’s Ian’s sweater, but whatever). 

“Really?” Mickey grunts out. “You were in it last year and they’re making you test in again?” 

Ian shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s just a sign-up today. The test isn’t until February. They said they’re trying to get a read on how many kids will be interested in the program with early sign-ups or whatever.” Junior ROTC doesn’t start until April, and he always finds it a little excessive that they get everyone to sign up 5 months early, but whatever. 

He tugs on his Simon shirt (another hand-me-down from Lip) and is poking around in their dresser when he realizes he’s missing his camo pants. Another dumb requirement from ROTC- they want you in the whole outfit when you sign up. 

“Damnit,” he says. “I think my pants are downstairs. I’ll be right back.” 

Mickey lets out a grunt in reply, and Ian grabs a random pair of jeans before making his way downstairs. “Hey, are my camo pants still in the dryer?” 

Then he freezes.

Monica’s in the middle of the kitchen, holding and bouncing Liam like nothing’s fucking wrong. Frank’s hunched over the kitchen counter, buttering toast, and Debbie and Fiona seem frozen in their places.

“Ian!” Monica gushes out. “It’s Ian!” 

And Ian can’t believe it. Monica left them, once again, 8 months ago, and now she’s back like nothing ever happened? He’s getting rather tired of this- having to pretend like everything’s okay, like his own fucking mother doesn’t leave and return when she feels like it.

He chuckles, because this kind of feels like a dream. “The hell is she doing here?” he asks, spying crackers in an open cabinet and making his way over to them. 

“I asked your mother to come home,” Frank slurs out. He’s probably drunk, like he always is. 

“Oh, you live here now, too?” Ian replies, grabbing the cracker bag. 

“I made breakfast,” Monica throws out, like everything’s perfectly okay. 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Ian replies. He’ll go hungry for the entire fucking day out of spite. 

“Your mother spent a lot of time making that breakfast, sit down! Eat it!” Frank yells at him. It’s no secret that Frank hates him, and he hates Frank right back, but he especially hates the way Frank’s yelling at him right now- as if he has any parental control over him. Ian’s own words from earlier and tumbling through his own head- _You’re not your dad._

“This is bullshit,” he says and makes his way back upstairs. 

“Ian!” Fiona calls after him, and he hears Frank say, “I’m gonna wash his mouth out with soap.” 

Ian slams the door to their bedroom once he’s in it, making Mickey jerk up from where he was rearranging Aileen’s clothes in their dresser. He’s been doing that a lot. 

“Monica’s back,” Ian blurts out. 

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “What, your mom?” 

“Yes,” he snaps, running a hand through her hair. “In the fucking kitchen like she owns the place. Frank said he brought her back or whatever.” Mickey’s staring at him. Ian’s told him about his mom before, of course. How she blows into their life like a fucking hurricane, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake. Ian’s honestly not sure which is worse- Mickey’s mom dying when he needed her the most, or Ian’s mom wrecking his life when he needs it the least. 

Mickey pushes himself up to standing. “Well, let’s go meet this bitch,” he says. Ian raises an eyebrow. 

“What, you wanna meet Monica?” 

“Better get it over with now. And I’m hungry as a horse. Is there breakfast?” 

“Yeah, but Monica made it,” Ian says, leading Mickey to the back staircase. “Don’t eat it. I’m sure she’s laced it with coke or something.”

Carl and Debbie are sitting down at the kitchen table along with Monica when Ian returns. 

“You’re back!” Monica says happily, and Ian scoffs. “And you’ve brought a friend!” 

Mickey waddles into the kitchen and fixes Monica with his classic one-eyebrow-up glare. 

“Wow,” Monica says. “I’ve never seen a pregnant man before!” 

Ian freezes, his hand wrapped around the cereal box. He half expects Mickey to shoot Monica in the face right then and there (not that he’d be complaining), but he instead just grunts and says, “Yeah, well, the fucking zoo was closed today.” He moves over to Ian, who hands him an extra bowl. 

“You two are together?” Monica blurts out. “Ian, I didn’t know you were gay!” 

“Surprise,” Ian says sarcastically. This is just going from annoying to painful. 

Fiona, who had been standing at the kitchen sink, now takes the orange juice out of the fridge and sets it next to Mickey’s elbow. She takes a sip of her coffee and moves to sit down at the table. Ian catches sight of Frank, who’s drinking beer over the washing machine. 

“So, who’s kid is that?” Monica asks then. “I mean, Ian, you can’t be sure it’s yours, right? Do you want me to get you a paternity test?” 

Mickey rounds on her. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

“Hey!” Frank protests loudly. “Show some respect!” 

Ian shoots him the middle finger as Monica continues, “I’m sorry, but there’s just no knowing, is there? I mean, I thought Liam wasn’t Frank’s until a paternity test proved otherwise! Ian baby, I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t want you to get unnecessarily tied down!” 

“Fuck you!” Ian spits out. He’s pissed; so fucking pissed. No, he doesn’t need a fucking _paternity_ test, he knows 100% that Aileen is his. Mickey's not like Karen- spreading his legs for any willing guy in the neighborhood. “Back upstairs,” he snaps to Mickey, who grabs his cereal bowl and is content with shoving spoonfuls into his mouth as Ian shoos him up the stairs. 

Once again, they find their way to their bedroom and Ian collapses on his bed, letting out a long groan. “I fucking hate her,” he mumbles out. 

Mickey sits next to him. “She’s wrong, you know, Aileen is yours.” 

Ian lets out a laugh. “Mick, I know that,” he replies, then glances down at his watch. “Shit, I have to get to school. Are you cool with staying home with Monica?” 

Mickey shrugs and eats another spoonful of cheerios. “Do I get a choice?” 

“No, I guess not.” 

Ian meets Mandy a few blocks from school, and can’t help but blurt out, “My mom showed up today. She just came out of nowhere.” 

“She staying?” Mandy asks. 

“Never does,” he replies. 

“Lip still staying with Karen?” Mandy asks. 

“I hope not. See, Karen’s like cancer. You know, you kill it in one spot, pops up in another.” He glances over at Mandy to see if he got a laugh from her, which he didn’t. She’s staring down at her hands, like she’s thinking. Mickey does that, too. “You okay?” he asks her. 

“Yeah,” she replies, but she doesn’t sound okay. 

“You should come over today,” he says, trying to distract her. He plucks the beanie off her head, and she sighs and smooths down her hair. “After my ROTC sign-ups today, of course. Mickey’s bored out of his mind.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Mandy replies. “Kinda nice, not having someone call me a fucktwat.”

Ian chuckles. They’re nearly at the dumpster fire adults call school when he says, “You’re lucky your mom’s dead.” 

“Yeah,” Mandy replies. 

She does come over, and Mickey does call her a fucktwat. When she says, “You look bigger than you did last week,” Mickey punches her in the arm, but he’s grinning. They talk for a long time, the three of them, and Mandy gushes over the baby clothes they bought. Then when Frank and Monica leave for the Alibi, they go downstairs and play video games.

“I may be 37 weeks pregnant, but I can still fucking kick your asses,” Mickey says when he beats Ian and Mandy for the 4th time at some zombie game Carl stole. 

They eat a dinner of reheated pizza, before Mandy says she has to leave and do homework. 

“You’ll call me as soon as you’re in labor, right?” she asks after she hugs Mickey.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Christ, for the last time, yes I will. But I’m not popping her out for another 2 weeks.”

“I just wanna be there as soon as my niece is here,” Mandy says, hugging Ian then. 

“See you, Mands,” Ian says, and she waves over her shoulder and sees herself out. 

Ian does homework on their bed while Mickey lays back and strokes his stomach. It’s become his favorite pastime as of late. Fiona recruits them to draw posters for Carl’s football game on Friday, and they do for a while, until Mickey announces he’s drop dead tired at 11 and they head off to bed. 

Ian had just nodded off to sleep, Mickey’s body a comfortable warmth against his, when voices from downstairs rouse him. He can hear music too, the loud bass rattling the floor. Then loud voices singing along to whatever song they’re playing. He knows who it is at once. 

He throws the blankets off himself and stands up, stomping downstairs. There’s a shitton of people he doens’t know in the living room, along with Frank and Monica. 

“Some of us actually want to do something with our lives-” he pulls the plug on their stereo- “So how ‘bout you all shut the fuck up and let me sleep?”

“Do _not_ talk to your mother like that, you little fucker!” Frank snaps, shoving at Ian. 

“Hey!” 

The stress from Mickey’s due date coming up, and anger at his mom returning boils over, and he shoves Frank right back. 

Monica slaps Frank. “Apologize to him!” 

Frank looks genuinely confused. “Wha…?” 

“Apologize!” Monica demands again, pointing at Ian. Ian stares at Frank, who holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Uh, sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. 

“What’s going on?” Debbie groans from the stairs. Fuck, she got woken up, too. 

“Grab your earplugs, go back to bed, Debs,” Fiona says, shooing her. 

Monica holds out a beer to Ian, an apologetic look on her face. She clearly wants him to join the party, but he just grabs the bottle from her hand and stomps back upstairs. His blood is boiling and they’re too many things swirling around inside him. 

Mickey’s arms are open and inviting, and Ian collapses into them, their daughter sandwiched between them. 

“Fuck her,” Ian mumbles out into Mickey’s chest, and hot, angry tears prick at the corner of his eyes and the music continues blaring. 

Monica’s still there on Tuesday, 14 days left, when Ian learns that Grammy died on Saturday, and that they can’t have a funeral until Frank picks her body up from the morgue, which he clearly doesn't want to do. She’s still there on Friday, 11 days left, when Carl has his football game. Ian gets home from school, and the first thing he sees is Monica. He’d much rather see Mickey and Aileen on the couch, but she’s parked in his way. 

“Hey, sweetie.” He’s been purposefully tense around her the past week, but she can’t seem to take a hint. “I made some cookies!” 

“Oh, so now we’re square for you like, abandoning us and everything,” he replies. 

“Hey…” Frank says from his position, leaning over the counter with a bottle. What else is new? 

“Are you coming with us to Carl’s game?” Monica asks. 

“Yup,” Ian replies, setting his backpack down on the dining room table and grabbing his homework out, nodding at Mickey, who’s watching tv. He nods back, but knows it’s wise not to interrupt when Monica is talking to Ian, or else he’ll just get another insult. She’s been doing that all week, casually throwing into their conversation how she doesn't believe Ian’s daughter is his own, and it makes Ian’s fists need to punch something. “I’m going to Carl’s game, I always go to Carl’s games because I actually give a shit.” 

He’s trying to go over to Mickey, but Frank says, “Ian Clayton Gallagher, do not talk to your mother like that.”

Ian rounds on him and lets out a breathy laugh. “You haven’t even claimed your mother’s body from the morgue, and you wanna tell me how to treat mine?” 

“He’s got a point,” Monica says, and Frank ambles away, hopefully to wreak havoc on someone else. 

Ian takes only one goddamn step before Monica is up in his face, saying, “You should go out with me tomorrow night.” He raises his eyebrows at her, because _what the fuck?_ “You should never be ashamed about what and who you are,” she continues, and he tries to step past her, but she gets in his way. “Well, when I was with Roberta, I was proud. I mean, it wasn’t a perfect relationship, but we were never ashamed.” 

Ian stares into her eyes. “Maybe you should’a been.” 

She giggles, like he just made a joke. “So, whaddaya say, huh?” 

Christ, she wants to go out with him? And then Ian doesn't even care anymore. Anything to get her to leave him alone. “Maybe,” he replies, and brushes past her to join Mickey. Mickey throws an arm over his shoulder, and he leans in close. 

Mickey goes with Ian to Carl’s game later. He’s slow, and bundled up in three layers, but Ian’s glad he’s there. He makes his family a little bit more bearable. Debbie’s got her own boy, some sleazy kid named _Little Hank._ Mickey stays seated on the bleachers, but he doesn't scream any less than Ian or Fiona do. It makes Ian’s heart swell, and makes him imagine Mickey screaming at their future son’s football games. _Son?_ Ian shakes his head and watches just as Carl gets tackled.

Lip shows up, about halfway through, dragging Jimmy/Steve’s wife, so Ian can only assume he’s been living with them. Lip never told him that. He texted about a week ago to say that he was staying at Karen’s and then asked how Mickey was, but then he went silent. Debbie hugs him, and then he and Fiona and Monica are all shouting at each other. 

“You living at Steve’s?” Fiona says when she sees Steve’s wife.

“Yeah, no curfew, no ultimatums, no befriending the enemy behind my back,” Lip replies, guestering at Monica with the last part. 

“C’mon, she just showed up. What was I supposed to do?” Fiona says to him, quietly. 

Then Lip storms off, and Fiona yells after him, and Ian feels Mickey’s fingers squeeze against his. 

“Picture perfect family, huh?” Ian scoffs. 

“Not like mine’s any fucking better. But he’ll come back,” Mickey says, then shouts when Carl’s team makes a touchdown. 

“I’m sorry, you fucking _what_?” 

Aileen’s coming in 10 days, and Mickey is pissed at Ian for letting Monica drag him to a club. 

“I said _maybe_ ,” he tries. “I was kinda hoping she’d forget about it.”

“Well, congragu-fucking-lations, she hasn’t.” Mickey crosses his arms and fixes Ian with a glare. Ian sighs and tugs his shirt over his head, pulling on another one. Monica had told him to go “get himself pretty,” and he isn’t going to do it, but he knows she’s going to bitch if he comes back downstairs looking exactly the same. 

“Look, it’ll be like 2 hours, tops. I’ll drag her out of there quickly,” Ian says. “You know I’m not going to enjoy myself. I’d rather be here with you.” 

“Fag,” Mickey grumbles out. “Go out, get gonorrhea, for all I care.”

Ian frowns. “Did you not listen to a word I said? I’m not going to have fun, I’m not going to fuck someone else. I’m just going to appease her.”

“Ian!” Monica shouts up the stairs. “You almost ready, baby?” 

Ian grabs his gray hoodie and tugs it on, turning to Mickey. “See?” he says, spreading his hands. “I look like a 10 year old.” 

Mickey scoffs. “I’m sure some faggot in there will like 10 year olds.” 

Ian sighs. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, then meets his mother downstairs. 

Monica drags him halfway across the Southside, and it’s fucking cold out, but she doesn’t seem to mind. The club is loud and bright and Ian’s head is starting to hurt. 

“Me and Bob used to come here. It’s a great mix of gay, lesbian, bi, and some cool breeders!” 

“It’s uh, it’s a little weird being… out with you,” Ian says, scratching the back of his head. 

“No shame, baby!” Monica says, guestering around the club, where guys are grinding up against each other and girls are making out with girls. That’s not what Ian meant. He doens’t care who gives a shit that he’s gay, he’s more concerned about the fact that he’s out with his 40-year-old mom. “But don’t even think about coming out at school. Somebody in the neighborhood will knife you, for sure.” 

He hasn’t _technically_ come out at school yet, but he’s pretty sure that everyone knows he’s with another guy, so it might be too late for that. He suddenly realizes the ease at which he got into the club, especially with him looking like a “ten-year-old” and glances around, half expecting some bouncer to be stomping over to him. “Think I’ll get carded?” he asks. 

“Nah,” Monica says, and just then, some old guy pushes his way between them. “You’re the bread and butter here. They need fresh meat to keep the old guys coming in.” 

Jesus, how long is it going to take to convince her that he and Mickey are together?

Monica glances over her shoulder, then says, “Ooh. 3 o’clock. That guy is totally checking you out.” 

Ian looks for the guy she’s nodding at. He’s has fucking white hair and a beer belly, and raises his piña colada at Ian. 

“You’re kidding right,” Ian asks, hoping that this is some kind of joke. 

“Oh, shit, 9 o’clock.” 

He doesn’t have white hair, but he’s still old, and nods at Ian as if he’s easy. 

“That kinda takes your mind off Mickey, right?” Monica says, and then she’s placing her hands on his shoulders. 

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” Ian snaps at her. 

Monica gives him puppy eyes. “Oh, come on, sweetie, he’s just tying you down! You deserve to have a little fun!” 

“Tying me down?” Ian shoves at her. “He’s fucking not, I chose him.” 

“I know you’re hurting, baby,” Monica tries. “Wanna dance?”

Ian shakes his head and retreats, finding his way to the bar. He sinks down into one of the stools and orders coke and rum, glancing over his shoulder to check on Monica after a few. She’s fine, dancing with a 7 foot tall woman. 

“Hey.” 

Some guy has slid up next to him. He’s old, too, with a wrinkled face and gray hair that sticks up. Ian curls his lip and takes a sip of his drink. 

“Hi,” he responds. 

“Mmm, how’s it going, Red?” the guy leers.

Ian refuses to look at him. “I have a boyfriend,” he says dryly. 

“Uh-huh,” the guy responds. “And I have a wife. I’m Ned.”

“Not interested.” 

“Oh, c’mon,” he whines. Fucking _whines_ . A grown-ass man is _whining_ at Ian. “I’ll suck you off in the bathrooms,” he adds seductively. 

“No thanks. I’m serious. I have a boyfriend.” 

“What are you doing here, then?” 

Ian jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Monica. “With my mother,” he says. 

Ned lets out a barking laugh, and Ian jumps a little. “With your _mother_? How old are you?” Ian doesn't say anything, so he continues, “That’s okay. I like them young and fit.” 

Ian turns and stares at him for the first time. “Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow. He grabs some bills from his back pocket and throws them down on the bar for the drink he’s barely taken 4 sips of. “Bye,” he says, and leaves the old man by himself. Let him bother some other underage kid. Ian finds his jacket in the coat room and stands outside, waiting for Monica. 

He’s freezing his balls off, but he doesn’t give a shit. His head is still pounding from the too-loud bass, and he’s missing Mickey’s warmth right now. He gets hit on a few more times, mostly by older men, and is called a twink once, before Monica finally comes out. 

“ _There_ you are!” she coos. Her shirt is messed up, and her hair is loose from its pigtails. “Been looking for you forever before some nice man told me you were outside!” She loops their arms together, and starts pulling him along. “Whaddya say we stop for some food, huh? I’m starving.” 

“No, I just want to go home,” Ian replies. He would’ve gone home sooner, but he knows Monica’s not responsible enough to be out by herself, and he’s kind of forgotten where they are. 

“Oh, did you not have fun?” Monica asks, and Ian laughs at that. No, he did not. But she listens to him, and they eventually make their way back home, although Ian’s had to drag her out of several alleyways where guys lured her in, promising drugs. 

“This was fun!” she exclaims as they’re trudging up the porch steps. “We should do this another time!” It’s half an hour later than Ian said he would get home, so he doesn’t reply to her and makes his way straight up to his bedroom. Mickey’s still awake, sitting upright on their bed. He shoves at Ian when he comes in. 

“What the fuck, Gallagher? You’re late.” 

“M’ sorry,” Ian responds. “Monica kept trying to do drugs on our way back.” 

“And you smell like someone else’s cologne,” Mickey snaps. “What the fuck?” 

“I didn’t bang anyone, I swear!” Ian says, spreading his hands. “This one guy was all over me, and wouldn’t back off even when I told him I had a boyfriend.” 

Mickey freezes. “Boyfriend?”

 _Shit._ They’ve never talked about what they are yet. They’re together, that much Ian is certain of, because they sleep in the same bed and fuck and are going to have a daughter together. But whether they’re boyfriends or just friends, Ian has no clue. 

“Well, I just said that to get him off my back,” Ian says quickly, not wanting to assume anything. “He was like, 60 years old or something.” 

“Oh what, so now you don’t have a boyfriend?” Mickey demands, crossing his arms. 

“Huh?” Now Ian’s confused. 

“Then who the fuck am I, bitch?” 

“Uh…” 

Mickey punches him in the arm. 

“You’re my boyfriend?” he tries. 

“Damn right,” Mickey replies. “I ain’t shoving your kid out for nothing. Go shower. You fucking reek.” 

Ian does, and the word _boyfriend_ is swirling around in his head. The last “boyfriend” he had was Kash, but technically, that was illegal and in secret, so really, Mickey is his first boyfriend. He lets out a laugh at the thought that he and Mickey are doing everything backwards. Aren’t you supposed to date, get married, _then_ have kids? He brushes his teeth and then goes back into his room. It’s dark; Mickey is already asleep, turned on his side, waiting for Ian to fall asleep behind him. 

Ian towel dries his hair, then drops the towel on the floor beside their bed. He crawls underneath the blankets and buries his nose in Mickey’s neck. He likes how he smells. 

_10 more days…_

The night of 9 more days, Monica and Frank throw another party. Thankfully, they don’t invite random people from the Alibi this time, but they’re no less quiet. Kev and V come over, and Estefania, and the couple from across the street. 

“Not this again,” Mickey mumbles out. He, Ian, and Carl are in the kitchen, eating the lemon cake that Debbie made for dessert. Carl gasps and runs to join the party, but Ian and Mickey hang back. 

“I’m not getting another 4 hours of sleep tonight,” Mickey says. “I’m not putting up with this bullshit.”

Ian sighs, because he doesn’t want to, either. “It’s too much trouble to tell them to shut up. Let’s just go somewhere else.” 

“Yeah? Like fucking where?” 

“Your house?” 

Mickey pauses at that. “Not a bad idea, Firecrotch,” he says, grinning. “Grab our shit, and then we’re fucking leaving.” 

Ian throws his and Mickey’s pajamas, their toothbrushes, and one of their blankets in his backpack before making his way back downstairs. Fiona’s joined in the party, and asks where he’s going. 

“Milkovich house,” he responds, and she shoots him an apologetic glance, but doesn't say anything else. When he gets back to the kitchen, Mickey’s wrapped up in a winter jacket, a scarf, and a hat, just his eyes and his nose visible. 

When Ian chuckles at him, he snaps back, “It’s colder than a dead chick’s pussy out there, I ain’t taking any chances.” 

It _is_ colder than a dead chick’s pussy, Ian thinks, and he and Mickey trudge to Mickey’s house. The winds whip around them, and Mickey huddles closer to Ian. The door to the Milkovich house is unlocked, unsurprisingly, as anyone would be mad to try and break in. 

“Mandy!” Mickey yells as soon as he gets in, tugging off his scarf. 

She appears from the kitchen, holding a ‘smore in her hand, and her mouth falls open when she sees them. “Mickey?” she gasps out. “Are you alright? Is the baby coming?”

“Christ, calm your tits,” Mickey snaps back, unzipping his jacket now. “Ian’s crazy mom is just throwing a loud ass party, and I actually want to sleep tonight so we’re crashing here.” 

Mandy glances at Ian, and he shrugs, then takes off his own jacket. 

“Did I hear Mickey?” Iggy asks, appearing from his room. He grins when he sees his brother. “Mickey, man! I haven’t seen you in like, forever!” He goes in for a hug, and Mickey lets him. “God, you’re getting big,” Iggy comments when he pulls back. 

“Say that again I’ll rip your tongue out of your head,” Mickey replies, but he gives Iggy a few teasing punches. 

“What are you guys doing here?” Iggy asks, glancing between the two of them. “The kid’s not due for another 9 days, right?” 

“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, tipping his head. 

“Mandy made a calendar,” Iggy replies, grinning and guestering at his sister, who rolls her eyes and asks Mickey if he wants a ‘smore. 

He follows her into the kitchen, leaving Iggy and Ian alone in the living room. 

“Er, no, my family’s kinda crazy right now, so we’re looking for a quiet place for the night,” Ian says, answering Iggy’s earlier question. “Mick needs all the sleep he can get now.” 

Iggy nods, then fixes him with a stare. “Are you taking care of my baby brother?” he asks seriously. 

Ian blinks. Honestly, he would never have taken Iggy for the type. Based off of the stories Mickey’s told him and the vibe he gets from Iggy, he’s not a family man, more of a drugs and girls man. But hey, Mickey surprised him the first time they fucked by turning around and demanding Ian’s dick in his ass, so he supposes Iggy can surprise him too. 

He glances over at Mickey, who’s bickering with Mandy about something, and nods absentmindedly. “I’m trying my damn hardest,” he replies. 

They’re eating ‘smores on the couch, and Mickey’s trying to hide his yawns, when Mickey’s oldest brother, Colin, comes in. Ian’s seen Colin maybe once or twice, but from what Mickey tells him, he’s pretty much absent 24/7 and is a lot meaner than Iggy. 

Ian freezes when he spies Colin, frozen in the entrance to the living room, half expecting Colin to start beating them up like Terry did, but his mouth just stretches into a smile. 

“Mickey!” he says loudly. “You came back! I was hoping to catch you soon.” He lumbes over and grabs Mickey’s hand, leaning down to give him an attempted “bro hug,” then turns to Ian. “And this must be your baby daddy! Congrats, man. I didn’t think Mickey would ever be soft enough to have a dick in his ass.” 

“Who the fuck are you calling soft?” Mickey grumbles out, bits of graham cracker on his lips.

“Ooh, you’re gonna have to wash your mouth out before your kid arrives,” Colin teases. “Hey, there still ‘smores left?” 

Mandy nods and gestures to the kitchen, and he ambles away to make one. 

Mickey yawns widely then, and says, “Man, I’m beat. You guys are gonna have to get the fuck outta here to let Ian and I sleep.” 

“What, on the couch?” Mandy asks, and then Iggy says, “Fuck, no. You ain’t sleeping on the goddamn couch. You can take my bedroom. I’ll even change the sheets for you and everything, your highness,” he adds when Mickey makes a face. 

“Thanks,” Ian says at Iggy’s retreating back. 

“Your mom’s still around?” Mandy asks Ian, sounding half-disbelieving. 

“Unfortunately,” Ian replies. “I’m kinda hoping she’ll run off again before Aileen is born. I don’t want her to be around for that.” 

“You’re having it at home, right?” Mandy asks. 

“Yeah,” Mickey replies, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t go to fucking hospitals.” 

Mandy nods, then grabs Ian and Mickey’s ‘smores plates. “Night, assholes,” she says. “See you in the morning.” 

Iggy changes his sheets quickly, then ushers Ian and Mickey into his bedroom, which had been Mickey’s old room. Mickey collapses on the bed almost immediately. 

“Feels weird,” he mumbles out. 

Knowing that Mickey isn’t going to do it himself, Ian takes out their toothbrushes and pajamas and lays them aside, then starts to change. “What feels weird?” he asks. 

“Being back in my old room, but with you,” Mickey replies. He shrugs. “It’s like, I grew up here, but it was always with Terry around, ya know? It’s kinda nice without him here.” 

“Quieter,” Ian says, tugging his shirt over his head. He leans over and presses a kiss to Mickey’s soft lips. “And safer for my boyfriend and our daughter.” 

Mickey shoves at his chest lightly. “Shut up, you fucking sap.”

They brush their teeth, and then crawl into Mickey’s childhood bed, and are out almost immediately. 

It’s almost nice, waking up to a silent house. Ian buries his face into the back of Mickey’s neck, inhaling his scent. There’s no strange bumps coming from Carl’s room, or Fiona yelling at them that breakfast is ready, or Liam babbling. He becomes more aware of his morning wood as he wakes up, and lets out a sigh, shifting his hips so that his dick’s pressing against the back of Mickey’s thigh. 

It takes Mickey all of 30 seconds to wake up after that, and he lets out a chuckle. “What’s got you so hot and bothered, Firecrotch?” he teases. 

“You,” Ian replies simply. “Can I jerk off?” 

“S’long as you don’t try to stick it in me.”

“Of course not.” Not while they’re daughter’s 8 days away. 

He reaches down and tugs his boxers off his hips, then wraps a hand around his length. He lets out a groan at the pressure, and presses an open-mouth kiss to Mickey’s neck. Mickey’s hand snakes back and holds onto his, and Ian lets out a sigh at the feeling of his soft skin. 

He starts to jerk himself off, and Mickey shuffles around so he’s half on his back, half on his side, his stomach not crushing the rest of his organs yet as it would be if he were completely flat on his back. His fingers find Ian’s length and then both him and Mickey are jerking him off. 

“Fuck, Mick,” he groans out, his eyes squeezing shut. Mickey lets out a moan then, and he opens his eyes to find that Mickey’s jerking himself off too. “Christ, so hot,” he mumbles out. He doesn’t last long, now that he’s seeing Mickey hand working on himself, and Mickey follows shortly after. He twists his neck around and Ian presses his lips to Mickey’s, and Mickey’s tongue slides into his mouth, exploring around lazily. 

“Mmm,” Ian hums out, reaching up with the hand that’s currently not covered in cum and runs it through Mickey’s hair. “I feel bad for whoever has to wash these sheets.” 

Mickey laughs breathily against his lips, then pulls back, shoving himself up into a sitting position. “Need to piss,” he grunts out. “She’s on my bladder. Help me up.” He holds out his arms to Ian, and Ian grins, because _maybe_ he loves how much Mickey needs him. 

He hauls him to his feet, letting Mickey settle himself with his hand on his lower back until he lets Mickey go. He grabs his jeans from last night and pulls them on, standing up and tugging the blankets up, to cover the stains from that morning. 

They eat breakfast with Mandy, Colin, and Iggy, and then leave for the day after promising they’ll bring Aileen over as soon as she’s born. It’s still fucking cold out when they make their way back to Ian’s house. The sun is just barely up, as it’s only 7 am. Ian had to get up early for school, which he’s kind of starting to hate. 

They go in through the back door, into the kitchen, where Frank and Monica are sitting at the kitchen table with a bag of Grammy’s ashes. Frank’s rolling a joint, and Monica holds up a lighter for him. She flicks it on, and he leans over and lights his joint. 

“Your mother was a real cunt,” Monica says, and then Ian knows exactly what’s in Frank’s joint. 

“Breakfast of champions, I see,” he says and he and Mickey make their way upstairs. Mickey raises an eyebrow at him, and Ian rolls his eyes. God, he’s got such a weird fucking family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably noticed, I wrote the whole chapter from Ian's pov. I really wanted to dive into his relationship with Monica. I also made it a lot more strained than it was in canon, because of how he's going to be a parent soon and he's sort of realizing how shitty of a parent Monica is, and he doesn't want to be anything like her, so he's pushing her away. 
> 
> Also, we met Ned in this chapter. He might come back later… ;) ;) ;)
> 
> Look for chapter 13 on Monday!


	13. A Great Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Mickey thought Monica was crazy before, he thinks she’s insane now. She moves the fucking couch out of the living room by herself, then steam cleans the carpet. She pulls all of the dishes back out of the cupboards and spreads them all over the kitchen. Then on Sunday, two days before Mickey’s due date, she bakes a shitton of cookies and says they should have a fundraiser.   
> 2.10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Terry's in jail right now, he has no time to rape his own daughter, so Mandy doesn't need an abortion.   
> Ummmmmm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but oh well. 
> 
> Warning: Bipolar disorder

Monica apologizes to Mickey out of the blue one morning and says that she was just surprised that she was going to be a grandmother. Mickey begrudgingly accepts her apology, still not over her basically calling him a slut. Then she makes him breakfast, and he figures that maybe she isn’t so bad. 

Ian runs out for school, and Fiona comes down a little while later with Debbie and Carl, who both look drop-dead tired. Monica mentioned she stayed up late with them and watched a scary movie without Fiona knowing, and now they both look like zombies. Carl slumps over onto the table when he sits down, and Mickey shoves a bit of toast in his mouth, which the kid starts to chew with his eyes shut. Mickey lets out a scoff at Monica’s pissy parenting. He'd never let his daughter stay up all night so that she can barely stay awake for school the next day. 

Everyone leaves for school or work, and then it’s just Mickey, Monica, and Liam in the house. Then Monica declares that she’s taking Liam for his check-up at the doctor’s office, and Mickey’s blissfully alone. Well, besides Frank, sleeping like the dead in Fiona’s room, but whatever. 

Mickey’s taking a piss in the bathroom when he suddenly realizes how gross it is. “Jesus,” he groans out, “Does no one know how to fucking aim?” He can’t see his dick anymore, but at least _he_ still makes it in the toilet. He finds cleaning supplies in the hallway closet, and begins to tackle the bathroom. 

It’s… satisfying, when he scrubs what’s probably 5 years worth of grime and dust off the toilet, then the sink, then the shelves, then finally the shower. He unclogs the shower drain that’s full of hair and sprays bleach on the curtain where mold is growing. He hears Monica stomp up the stairs at one point, and then the unmistakable sound of sex from Fiona’s room. He lets out a groan of annoyance and shuts the bathroom door before tackling the mirror. 

Once he’s done, he decides that the downstairs bathroom could use some cleaning, as well, and makes his way slowly downstairs. 

“Can’t wait until I can walk normally again, kid,” he grumbles out to Aileen. Then he suddenly notices how quiet the house is- no more sounds of Frank and Monica. Come to think of it, he didn’t see them on his way downstairs. 

“Monica?” he calls up, and gets no answer. Liam’s not in his play pen, either. Mickey shrugs, thinking that Frank and Monica just took him out for a day and prays to God they don’t forget him behind an alleyway. 

Once he’s down with the downstairs toilet, he shoves the cleaning supplies away back in their closet and collapses on his and Ian’s bed. “Fucking tired,” he mumbles out. “Thanks a lot, kid.” He rolls over and soon out like a light. 

***

When Ian gets back from work, the living room looks like a tornado hit it. There’s tons of boxes from American Girl Doll, with Debbie and Monica at the center. Debbie’s holding a doll and playing with her hair while Monica unboxes another one. 

“Hey, honey!” Monica says. 

Ian just stares at her. “What’s with the dolls?” 

“I took Debbie shopping,” she responds. “I missed her last birthday, and we couldn’t decide which doll to get, so we got them all!” 

Debbie stands up and says, “I’ll get the other load,” sounding tired as she makes her way to the front door. 

“There’s more?” Ian asks, then Debbie grabs his jacket as she’s walking past him, and pulls him down to her level. 

“I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t play with dolls anymore,” she says. “She’s practically filled the car.” 

Ian freezes. “Car?” What car? They’ve never had a car before. They’ve always walked or taken the L- less money that way. “You bought a car,” he says in disbelief, moving to the stairs. 

“Hey, how was your trigonometry midterm?” Monica asks, reaching out to grab him before he can disappear. 

It was fucking horrible, was what it was. He had stayed up late studying with Mickey, but then there had been weird noises from downstairs so he didn’t get such a good night sleep, and when he had woken up in the morning, he had forgotten everything. He pulls the test out of his coat pocket and hands it to Monica, sitting down on the steps. 

“C minus,” he reports. 

“Great, you passed!” she says, and she doesn’t get it at all. 

“I can kiss West Point goodbye,” Ian replies. 

“West Point?” 

“Yeah, I was hoping to get in. Though I guess, now I can’t go.” 

“Well, if you know you want to be in the army, why are you wasting your time with school?” Monica asks, tossing Ian’s test over her shoulder. “Join up!” 

Debbie comes in, holding more bags, as Monica pulls him up by his arms. “What are we waiting for?” 

“Happy birthday!” she says to Debbie. She grabs her jacket, then Ian’s hand once more. “C’mon, let’s go!” He lets himself be dragged out the door. He knows he’s too young- you have to be 18 and he’s not ever 17 yet, but Monica looks so happy and excited for him that he goes with her. 

***

Mickey wakes up to his stomach gurgling loudly and ambles downstairs to… a shitshow of a living room. Debbie’s standing in the middle of brightly colored boxes and bags, which are covering every available surface. 

“What the fuck is this?” he says. 

“Monica took me shopping,” Debbie replies, pulling boxes out of the bag at her feet. “For my late birthday present.”

Mickey checks the label on the boxes. “American Girl?” he reads. Mandy had been obsessed with them a little while back, but they were expensive as shit, so it was short lived. “Where the fuck did she get the money?” 

Debbie frowns at that. “I… don’t know,” she responds. 

Mickey shakes his head. “Probably sold a shitton of oxy,” he responds and goes into the kitchen, where Monica’s left the pancake mix and the Crisco tub out. He sighs and shoves the things away, then starts to make himself a sandwich. 

He’s at the kitchen table, eating and entertaining Liam, who wandered in and stared at Mickey until he set him up in his high chair and gave him some cheerios to eat. He has to admit, the kid’s pretty fucking cute. 

He hears the door slam, and then loud voices yelling, but it’s not Monica and Frank, it’s Monica and Ian. 

“Fuck you!” Ian shouts. “You ruined any fucking chance I had!” 

“Ian!” Monica throws after him, but he’s stomping away, grabbing a beer from the fridge. 

“What happened?” Mickey asks around a mouthful of bread. 

“Tried to get me into the army,” Ian grumbles out. 

“But you’re 16. You can’t join yet.” 

Ian shrugs. “She took me there, and then when the guy told me to finish school first, she started yelling at him.” Mickey doesn’t miss the way his hand curls into a fist. “Fucking ruined everything.” 

“Yeah, man, parents suck ass,” Mickey responds. “Also, the living room looks like a shit show. How’d your trigonometry test go?” 

That question only makes Ian’s mood worse. 

Mickey’s due date is now 5 days away, and he’s nervous as shit. Nervous that his asshole is going to tear, or that Aileen will get stuck inside him and that he’ll have to go to the hospital, or that he’ll drop her or be a terrible father. He steals one of Debbie’s dolls because she won’t miss one anyway, and practices putting on the newborn diapers they bought in preparation. He’s getting pretty fucking good at it, and he makes Ian practice when he gets back from work. 

Veronica comes over that night, and she and Fiona go out drinking on the front porch. Veronica spends the night, and when she goes to bed, her eyes are wet.

“What was that about?” Mickey asks Fiona in the kitchen later. Monica’s pulled all the pots and pans out of the cupboard to change the wallpaper in the cabinets, but then didn’t finish and didn’t put the pots back. 

“She and Kev are trying to have a kid, but she can’t,” Fiona explains. 

“Well, does she want to switch?” Mickey asks, and Fiona scoffs. 

They’re quiet for a while, Mickey handing Fiona the plates to arrange in the cupboard, before she says, “You nervous?” 

Mickey knows what she’s talking about. “Hell yeah. But I’m also excited, you know?” 

Fiona nods, placing a glass in. “I’m excited too,” she says quietly. “My first niece.” 

Mickey smiles at her. 

If Mickey thought Monica was crazy before, he thinks she’s insane now. She moves the fucking couch out of the living room by herself, then steam cleans the carpet. She pulls all of the dishes back out of the cupboards and spreads them all over the kitchen. Then on Sunday, two days before Mickey’s due date, she bakes a shitton of cookies and says they should have a fundraiser. 

“Your mom’s fucking crazy as shit, man,” he says quietly to Ian. “What the fuck is she on?” 

“Nothing,” Ian whispers back. “That’s just how she is.” 

Monica recruits Debbie and Carl to make posters, and Mickey half-assedly draws one, while chomping on cookies. 

“Where’s the tape?” Debbie asks, poking around in the craft box. “Can’t find anything in this kitchen.” Mickey doesn’t blame her- it’s a fucking pigsty. “When are we moving the furniture back?” 

Monica completely ignores the question. “Oh, Debbie!” she gasps out. “I love your poster! Who’d you get your artistic talent from? Who wants to sample a cookie?” 

“Me,” Frank slurs, plodding his way down the stairs. He grabs one off of one of the plates on the table. 

“Uh, we’re selling those,” Ian says. 

“Blood sugar’s dipping, trying to keep up with your mother,” Frank says to him. “She’s wearing me out.” Ian catches Mickey’s eye and rolls his up to the ceiling. 

“I’m done with the flyer,” Carl announces, holding up the piece of paper he’d been scribbling on. It says ‘Fun Razor Drinks Snacks’ in big black letters, then a drawing of a stick figure shooting the face of another stick figure. 

Ian leans over to study the drawing. “Uh, it’s _fundraiser,_ not fun razor,” he corrects. 

“I want ‘em to show up and make them think someone’s getting cut,” Carl says, then drags his marker across the air with a slicing sound. 

Ian just pats him on the back. “Alright, make copies, man.” 

“Ooh! I’ll take him!” Monica jumps in, and Mickey wonders if she even takes the time to slow the fuck down, as she hazardly slams her bowl full of batter down on the counter. “C’mon, you and me, Carl! We can take the new car!” Carl grins, blissfully innocent, and follows after her. “Can’t get enough Mommy and Carl time.” 

Mickey watches them prance away, Monica babbling something to Carl. 

“Mom’s never going to shampoo the rug, is she?” Debbie says. Mickey peers into the living room, where the vacuum she rented is still standing right in the middle. Mickey sighs and hauls himself up from his seat. 

“You okay?” Ian asks him. He’s been doing that every single time Mickey makes a move, and Mickey knows that he’s just as nervous for Aileen’s upcoming birth as he is. 

“Fine,” he responds. “Just need to piss again.”

Monica leaves for a while after that, and they’re left with a shitton of cookies, but they decide to sell them anyway. They use the Alibi, and Mickey gets Mandy to meet them there. 

“Any diaper money you can get, huh?” Mandy says to him, tickling his side. He slaps her hand.

“Fuck off, bitch,” he grins. “Perks of having a crazy mom.”

Debbie loves it. She looks like a fucking entrepenour, handing out cookies to everyone and racking in money. Ian’s monitoring the door, and Mickey’s sitting down because fuck you, he’s 2 days away from giving birth and his fucking feet are too fucking swollen to be standing around. 

“You excited, Mickey?” Kev asks him while he pours beers for customers. 

“Christ, why does everyone keep asking me that?” Mickey asks, sipping his water. “Nervous as hell, more like. You ever pushed a baby out before?” 

Kev laughs. “No, I can’t say I have,” he responds. “Hey guys, we got 10 minutes to sign up for the pool tournament, $5 entry fee. Bragging rights are at stake!” he adds, calling out to the whole bar.

“Fuck, I’d enter if I could,” Mickey says. Kev grins at him, then moves over to talk to Debbie. Mickey leans back and lets his hand settle on his stomach, watching Ian count the bills by the door. Kev grabs a cookie, then moves away, and Mickey sees Mandy start talking to Debbie. 

They make nearly $600 that night, impressive considering Debbie sold each cookie for $1 each and each brownie for $1.25. Monica made a fucking lot of food. 

They split up the money- Mandy takes $100, Ian and Mickey take $100, and they give the rest to Debbie to put in the Squirrel Fund. Debbie’s grinning, and Mickey sees the beginning of a true Chicago businesswoman- money hungry. 

Ian loops an arm around his shoulders, and he almost forgets about his anxiety about his due date, and Monica. They see Fiona just as they’re back home, and she says that she was talking to a woman at a club about running a gig for a night. They all walk in the house together, and the living room looks kinda weird, without the couch there. 

Then Lip stomps downstairs. “Where the fuck have you been?” he shouts at Fiona. Mickey blinks, surprised. Ian says he hasn’t heard a peep from him since Carl’s football game last week. 

“Oh, what, you back for good, or just visiting?” Fiona taunts. 

“I just bailed Monica out of jail,” Lip snaps back.

_What the fuck?_

“What? Why?” 

“Cops, and they’re fucking quotas, why do you think?” Frank speaks up from the floor, where he’s snorting up crack. 

“She let Carl play bumper cars with the Buick,” Lip replies. 

“What? Is he okay?”

“Is he okay?” Frank repeats, standing up. “What about your mother? She birthed all of your ungrateful asses. Except for you, Milkovich,” he adds, pointing at Mickey. “I’m late for a meeting,” he mumbles, then brushes past them and leaves the house. And if that's not the most Frank thing Mickey’s ever seen- yelling, and then leaving suddenly- he doesn’t know what is. 

“They said Carl’s going to be fine, but it’s hard to tell because he’s normally concussed more than he isn’t,” Lip says. 

“Well, don’t let him fall asleep!” Fiona says.

Ian, probably expecting a blowup, leans down and says to Debbie, “Go upstairs, Debs. Go check on Carl.” She does, quickly. She’s probably used to some level of this. 

“So you’re AWOL all the time, but now you’re giving orders?” Lip snaps. 

“I was around!” Fiona protests. 

“Really? So you know Monica spent all of the Squirrel Fund money?” 

The room seems to freeze. Then Fiona spins around and goes into the kitchen, Mickey, Ian, and Lip following her. 

“You know, I wouldn't have had cash to bail her out if I didn’t return a bunch of dolls I found in Debbie’s room,” continues Lip as Fiona pulls out the envelopes that were supposed to hold all of their savings. Mickey glances at Ian, who’s deathly pale. That was all their money for the winter- their gas, heating, electric, _everything_. If this were Mickey’s house, it would be fine, they would just go out and rob some convenience store, but this is the Gallagher house, and they’re better people than Mickey’s family will ever be. 

“The first rule you learn in this house,” Lip shouts. “You hide the goddamn money!” 

Fiona stares at Lip, her eyes wet, her face unbelieving. “She seemed better,” she says in a small voice. 

“Look at this place!” Lip gestures around them. “The sofa is in the kitchen! For fuck’s sake, she tried to get Ian to enlist!” 

Fiona jerks her head around to stare at Ian now. “She what?” 

“What did you think was going to happen, Fiona?” says Lip. 

“Thought it might be different this time.” Her voice tracks and her lip trembles. 

Lip makes a face. “Well how’d that Kool-Aid taste going down?”

“Where is she?” Fiona demands, mad now. Mickey watches as she stomps up the stairs, and Lip leans heavily on the counter. 

“We… we made like $500 today with a cookie sale,” Ian says quietly. “And Mick and I have some extra money we were saving.” 

Lip waves him off. “No,” he whispers out. “You need that money for your kid.” He turns and looks at them. “You two are the only good things in life anymore. I- I need to leave.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night. Ian rifles through the envelopes, but comes up empty.

“It’s gone,” he says. “It’s all fucking gone.”

Vaguely, from upstairs, Mickey hears Fiona scream, “Get out of bed, Mom!” She comes back downstairs after that, looking tired and defeated. 

“Hey,” Ian says gently, and pulls her into a hug. She clings onto him, and Mickey can see her shoulders shake, so he hugs her too. When they untangle their arms, Fiona stands in the middle of the kitchen, then turns around and kicks the washing machine, crying out. 

Mickey and Ian let her. Ian’s fingers find Mickey’s and he squeezes, hard. 

Fiona takes off her blazer and folds it neatly up. “Guess we should straighten up this kitchen, huh?” 

They do. 

***

Ian was 3 when Monica left for the first time. He barely remembers it. Fiona was 9, and Lip was 4, almost 5, and Frank took them out while he was dealing drugs. He left them on the street corner for the entire night, just 3 kids, not knowing what to do, or where their parents were. 

Fiona always told him that Monica had been depressed before she left, lying in bed for a week, not speaking a word. She couldn’t work, couldn’t make them food, so Fiona stayed home from school and made lunches for Lip and Ian and stole food from their local store. She said Monica was there one day, just a lump in her bed, and gone the next. 

For a year, Monica stayed away. Again, Ian doesn’t remember that time, but Fiona says he cried all night. He was sick with the flu that winter, then Lip got it, and Fiona would steal medicine for them. Frank, she said, was barely even there, drowning his sorrows about his missing wife at the local bar. 

Monica came back 10 months later, and she gave Ian a card for his birthday, which she had missed because she had been depressed. Ian was 4 when Debbie was born, and he vaguely remembers seeing 10-year-old Fiona holding their little sister, and wondering why his mother wasn’t holding her. 

Ian was 5 when Carl was born, and he was old enough to start helping out. There’s a picture of him in the dining room, helping Lip bathe Carl. Monica left 3 months after Carl was born. That was the longest time she was away. 

When Ian was 6, Frank hit him for the first time. Fiona was at the pet shop she worked at (she had lied about her age, saying that she was 14 instead of 13), so it was just him, Lip (who was 8), toddler Debbie, and baby Carl. Ian was playing a kid’s show for Debbie and Carl, the colors bright and the music loud and happy. Debbie was giggling and Carl had his fist shoved in his mouth. Lip was making a bottle for Carl in the kitchen when Frank stumbled in, drunk. Ian knew what drunk was when he was 6. 

Frank started shouting at him, saying that the TV was too loud. Ian rushed to turn it off, but Frank slapped him across the face instead. Lip punched Frank, and then kicked him outside. Ian cried into Fiona’s arms that night.

It was his 7th birthday when he asked Fiona where Monica was. 

“Mom left us, sweetface,” she had said, and gave him a big hug. 

Ian was 10 and he was in his elementary school’s talent show. Lip had stolen him a slingshot for Christmas, and he was showing how he could hit cans with it from 50 feet away. He remembers seeing all of his other friends’ families, how their parents or parent were talking with them. Then he saw his own family- his teenage sister, who had just dropped out of high school to work 3 jobs, his older brother, then his little siblings, who were too young to even remember their mother. 

He was 12 when Monica came back again. She had been gone for 7 years, and Ian could barely remember life when she was there. Monica being back also meant that Frank was back, and that was the second time Frank had hit him. This time, though, Monica was there, and she shoved his father off of him, and then they started screaming. Ian remembers hugging his mom that night, thanking her. 

She stuck around for a year, and she would occasionally walk them to school, and buy them things. Ian still has the camo sweater she bought him when he told her he wanted to get into Junior ROTC. She was around when he got his first blow job, although he didn’t tell her about it. She seemed better, and he remembers one night he was telling Lip how he was excited because she was going to be there for his middle school graduation. 

“She won’t be,” was all Lip had said. 

A few months later, when Ian was 13, she gave birth to Liam, but he came out black. Frank was too high to care, and nobody else seemed to care. Black or white, he was still their brother. 

Monica left 2 months later. 

Ian held onto Liam and cried. 

He wasn’t crying now, but he was so close. 

“She ruined my fucking life, Mick,” he mumbled out. Mickey didn’t say anything, just let him talk. “She always comes back and then I think everything is fine, and good, and then she fucks up something and runs away and then nothing’s fine. God, I hate her, but I also… want her around. Is- is that weird?”

“No,” Mickey replies. “She’s your mom. Of course you want her around, no matter how shitty she really is.” 

Ian let out a sigh. “I don’t want to be like her,” he whispers. 

“You’re not,” Mickey says firmly. Ian’s not so sure. If the only parents he’s had have been shitty, won’t that mean he’ll be a shitty parent, too?

Monica’s depressed the next day. She doesn’t get out of bed, not even to use the bathroom or eat food. Mickey’s due date is the next day, and he and Ian run high with anxiety. Since Ian’s on Thanksgiving beak, they sit in bed all day like Monica, pouring over the birthing section of Ian’s baby books. Ian makes Mickey watch a birth video, and he nearly throws up after. 

Mickey has two more Braxton-Hicks contractions that day, and Ian freaks out with each one, so Mickey snaps at him to calm down. Ian can’t- he’s on high alert with the knowledge that Mickey could give birth literally any second now, and the fact that Monica’s depressed isn’t helping. 

She’s still depressed on Tuesday, which is when Mickey’s due date hits. Ian’s trying to be calm, he’s trying to keep himself together for Mickey’s sake, but his hands are shaking too much. 

“You know, most babies aren’t even born on their due dates,” Fiona reassures him. “I’d say you have at least 2 more days.” 

Debbie goes upstairs to try and rouse Monica, while Fiona starts to move around the house, chipping together random shit Grammy bought them with her meth money to sell, now that Monica spent their Squirrel Fund. Ian’s watching Mickey like a hawk. 

“What else did Grammy buy you guys?” Fiona asks, tipping a tiny keyboard and several XBox games onto the kitchen counter. Carl doesn’t respond, his nose is buried in a gun magazine, and Fiona goes over to Liam to take away his kid’s tablet just as Debbie comes down the stairs. 

“She still won’t get out of her room,” she reports, holding the stack of peanut butter toast Ian had made. 

“I know what I want for Christmas,” Carl throws in. 

“Christmas isn’t for like another month, kid, slow down,” Mickey says from the table. 

“I told you not to go up there,” Fiona says to Debbie. “Leave her alone.” 

“Well, how’s she going to eat?” 

“An AR-15 rifle,” Carl continues. 

“She’ll figure it out when she gets hungry,” Fiona says, then adds to Carl, “And no one’s buying you a rifle.”

“Shit, Carl, I had an AR-15,” Mickey says. “Sold it to pay for diapers. Coulda kept it if I knew you wanted it.” 

“He’s not getting a gun,” Fiona says firmly. 

“Is something wrong with her?” Debbie asks, sounding annoyed. “She hasn’t gotten out of bed for a day!” 

“It’s just what she does,” Fiona sighs. 

“What is?” 

Carl asks for a rifle again, and Fiona snaps at him. 

“Mom’s bipolar, Debs,” Ian says, leaning close to her. It was hard for him when he had to understand it, he knows it’s going to be hard for Debbie. 

“So, like the north and south pole?” 

“Sorta,” he replies. 

“Well, what can we do to help?” 

“Not much,” Fiona replies, moving around the kitchen. “Just wait it out.” 

Ian feels bad for Debbie- he knows she hates seeing people hurting, but unfortunately, this is just nothing she can help with. 

“I wish Lip were here,” Debbie says then. 

Ian can see the way Debbie’s face falls, and he needs to do something or else he’s going to explode with anxiety, so he grabs the plate of peanut butter toast, and says, “Well, I’ll see if I can get her up.” 

Her room is dark when he goes in, and she still hasn’t changed out of her winter parka. 

“Hey, Monica!” he says cheerfully. “Hey, I want to go back to that bar tonight.” He doesn’t, but she looked so happy, so _free,_ when she was there. “You know, the one you took me to?” He places her coffee on the bedside table. She doesn’t respond, and he studies her for a bit, her shoulders hunched in on herself, her face buried in her pillow, like she’s trying to hide from the world. “Will you go with me? C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He gently places his hand on her shoulder. “You can wear that purple shirt.” She doesn’t respond, so he grabs her coffee mug and holds it over her shoulder. “You want some coffee?”

“Honey, Mom needs to rest,” she says, barely audible, sounding so _tired_. 

“Please?” he tries. What kind of father is he going to be if he can’t cheer up his own mother?

She rolls back over, and he sighs and leaves, shutting the door on his way out. 

Fiona’s chatting on the phone and Carl and Debbie are leaning over the computer, looking at something when he comes back down. Mickey’s moved into the living room, on the couch. 

“Did she get up?” Debbie asks when he sets her uneaten plate of toast on the counter. Ian doesn’t say anything, just gives her a glance and moves over to where Mickey is. He curls up next to him, and wraps an arm around his shoulder. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently. 

Mickey shrugs. “So-so,” he says, then, “I need to shit again. Help me up.” Ian does, and they meander slowly over to the bathroom, which Fiona had just finished stocking up with new toilet paper. Ian waits right outside the door for Mickey. 

“I think I’m depressed,” Debbie says suddenly. “I’ve been feeling kinda funky lately.” 

“Maybe it means you’re going to get your period soon,” Carl throws in helpfully. 

Debbie looks up at him. “It does?” 

“Don’t wear white for a while,” he says seriously, then backs away, probably to go watch TV. 

Ian hears the toilet flush and is there when Mickey opens the door, waddling over to the sink to wash his hands. He had been up constantly last night, using the bathroom, and Ian had to drink 2 cups of coffee to compensate. 

Frank comes in all of a sudden, holding a mallet. “Hello, my tribe.” 

“Daddy!” Debbie pipes up. “I’m going to get my period soon!” 

“No time for that now, Debs,” Frank says, waving his hands and sounding uncharacteristically happy. Ian wonders if he’s bipolar, too. “I thought he was supposed to push the spawn out by now?” he adds to Ian. Ian opens his mouth to answer, but Frank continues, “I fixed the Buick. It’s good as new!” Ian thinks that’s the most work he’s ever done in his sorry life. “Is your mother upstairs?” he asks Fiona. 

“Don’t be getting her drunk, it only makes things worse,” she responds to him as he bounds up the stairs. 

Mickey makes Ian take him over to the couch, where he plops down heavily and lets out a grunt, his hand rubbing the side of his stomach. “Christ, don’t know how much longer I can take of this,” he says. “I just want her out, now.” 

“Me too,” Ian says, his leg bouncing. Mickey stares at it.

“It’ll mean you settle the fuck down, too.” 

“Sorry.” Ian wills his leg to stop moving. “Any more fake contractions?” 

“No, but my hips hurt like a fucking bitch,” Mickey groans. 

Ian wraps his fingers around Mickey’s left hip and digs in with his thumb, and Mickey lets out a moan. “God, that’s good,” he says. 

“Keep it PG!” Fiona shouts from the kitchen, then says something to Debbie. 

“Other one,” Mickey instructs, and Ian switches to his other side. 

Frank literally drags Monica out of the house sometime later, and Fiona leaves, muttering something about “Jimmy,” and Carl goes out to take down the pool (finally), and Debbie retreats to her room, so it’s just Ian and Mickey. 

“I hope she has your eyes,” Ian says after a while. 

“I hope she has your hair,” Mickey replies. 

“You know she won’t, right? Genetics.” 

Mickey scoffs. “Since when have you been interested in science?” 

“I’m not,” Ian replies. “I just paid attention when we went over the genetics unit. I hope she has your nose.” 

Mickey makes a face. “Why the fuck would you want her to have _my_ nose?”

“Because you’re handsome,” Ian replies, matter-of-factly. 

Mickey hits him lightly. “Sap.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming next chapter…


	14. Just Like the Pilgrims Intended, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian stares at him, looking worried.  
> “What?” Mickey snaps out, hating what Ian’s face is doing right now. “Christ, it’s not like I’m dying.”   
> “Mickey… I think you’re in labor.”  
> What? “No, I’m not,” he scoffs out.   
> 2.11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what's happening???
> 
> Warning: graphic birth!!  
> (but also very fluffy :)  
> Also, description of breastfeeding, but not in a kinky way, so hold your horses.
> 
> To answer Alterskam's question, no Aileen is not born on the day Monica tries to kill herself, because I feel like that would waaaaaay too much for one day. I stretched it out, though, so she's born the day before.

Monica and Frank don’t return that night when everyone goes to bed. Mickey had one more contraction that day, but he knew it was a fake one, not a sign of labor at all. That didn’t stop Ian from freaking out, though. His back is killing him when he goes to bed, and he makes Ian give him another back massage before he drifts off to sleep.

It’s short-lived, of course, when he wakes up at 2 am with another Braxton-Hicks contraction and even worse back pain. He curls up on himself, which usually makes the pain subside, but it doesn’t this time, so he arches his back, and that’s even worse. He ultimately decides to just wait it out, but it only lasts 30 seconds. He doesn’t even wake Ian, and drifts off to sleep again. 

He wakes up again when it’s barely light outside, a tiny sliver of weak sunlight showing through the gap in the curtains. He’s gotten used to contraction pain now; his lower abdomen cramps up like he’s on his period or has a muscle cramp, and it doesn’t let up for about 30 seconds, while pain blossoms across his lower back. This time, though, he feels as if he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he just has to suffer in silence as he curls in on himself and wills the pain to go away. He can’t focus on anything else but this pain, and he supposes he must’ve been moving around, because Ian’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder. 

“You good?” he mumbles out sleepily. 

The pain subsides. “Yeah,” Mickey grumbles out. “Another stupid Braxton-Hicks contraction. Wish I could’ve gotten at least another hour of sleep.” 

Ian makes a noise, halfway between a whine and a moan, probably too asleep to offer his condolences. His heavy breathing starts up again, and Mickey knows he’s fallen back to sleep. He can’t sleep, however, and lies awake until Ian wakes up again at 8.

“Morning!” he says, sounding bright and chipper. Mickey is tired as shit. 

“My joints hurt,” he groans.

“Wanna take a nice, hot shower, old man?” Ian teases, his lips flicking up. Normally, Mickey would snap at him, but he’s too out of it right now and just nods. 

They make their way to the bathroom, and Ian starts the shower and Mickey peels off his clothes. He’s been sleeping with virtually no blankets, as he runs super hot now, but he’s still managed to sweat through the back of his t-shirt in the middle of November. That could’ve been the fake contractions, though. As he tugs off his boxers, he spies white among the black cloth and curls his lip up at the appearance of _discharge_. Another great thing about pregnancy, his asshole feels the need to leak whenever it wants. 

The water feels amazing against his skin, and Ian’s hands feel even better, digging into his lower back, right above his pelvis. They stand under the spray for nearly 20 minutes, then Ian helps him out and hands him a towel to dry off. 

“Think she’ll come today?” Ian asks when they’re back in their room and Mickey is tugging on Ian’s sweatshirt. 

“Probably not,” Mickey responds. “Knowing my luck, she’ll be late as shit. I’ll probably be stuck like this for another week.” He gestures to himself. Ian just grins, kisses him, then pulls him downstairs.

Mickey’s in the middle of bagel when another Braxton-Hicks contraction hits, and he drops it, face-down, on his place. 

“Shit,” he hisses out, half because his cream cheese is now smeared across his plate, and half because he wasn’t expecting another one. 

He hunches over, his hands cupping his stomach, and realizes he can’t breathe again. 

“Mick, hey,” Ian says, rubbing his back. “It’s okay.” 

He can feel Carl’s eyes staring at him from across the table, and he wants to say something, but all he can manage out is a weak squeak. The pain fades in time, though, and he rights himself panting. 

“Shit,” Ian says. “Fi, what time is it?” 

Fiona, who’s standing at the kitchen sink, sipping her coffee, replies, “8:45. Why?”

“Shit,” Ian says again. “That’s two contractions so far today, Mick.” 

“Three,” Mickey grunts out. 

“What?”

“It’s 3, not 2. I had one at 2 in the morning. You were asleep.” 

Ian stares at him, looking worried.

“What?” Mickey snaps out, hating what Ian’s face is doing right now. “Christ, it’s not like I’m dying.” 

“Mickey… I think you’re in labor.”

What? “No, I’m not,” he scoffs out. 

“You just had 2 contractions in under 3 hours, and you couldn’t talk through either of them.”

Now it’s Mickey’s turn to stare at Ian. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Woah! You’re going to have the baby right now?”

“Not right now, Carl,” Fiona says, sighing. “Go upstairs.” The kid runs up to his room while Mickey’s brain is having a panic attack. He’s having Aileen today?!

“Do you need anything?” Fiona asks, gently. It’s Ian who replies. 

“Nah, I think we’re going to relax on the couch for a while. Mickey?”

Mickey glances up and realizes that Ian’s holding his hand out for him, and he takes it, allowing himself to be led over to the couch in the living room. “I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Mickey mumbles out as he sits down heavily, barely aware he just said that. 

Ian, however, the fucker, is grinning. “We’re gonna have a baby, Mick,” he says. 

Mickey shoves at his face as he leans over him. “I’m gonna have to push a kid out of my ass and pray that I won’t tear in two,” he snaps. “God, I can’t wait.”

“She’s going to be beautiful,” Ian whispers, sitting down next to Mickey and pressing a hand against his stomach. “I’m excited.”

Some of Ian’s giddy happiness must be rubbing off on Mickey, because he smiles and says, “Me too.” 

He has another contraction at 10, while they’re in the middle of watching the local news, because they can’t find anything else. It’s much longer than the other ones, and he can’t breathe again, and when it’s over, he just leans against Ian and pants. Ian brushes his hair back and gently strokes his arm. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispers out. 

10 minutes later, Mickey demands to be helped upstairs because he did not get a good night’s sleep last night, and if this is going to be lasting all day and night, he’s going to need a nap. Ian’s weight is comforting against his back, and Mickey’s eyes flutter shut. 

He’s rudely awakened more than an hour later by another contraction, one that lasts even longer. He gets pain in his lower back again, but this time, the pain spreads to his pelvis and he wants to rip his legs off. He can’t breath, can’t speak, but as soon as his abdomen stops cramping up, he lets out the world’s most ungodly noise. He’d murder Ian if he ever told anyone about it. 

“Hips,” he gasps out, and Ian massages his hips again. 

“This one was only 1 hour and 30 minutes later than your last one,” Ian observes, checking the clock. 

“Fucking great,” Mickey bites out. “I can’t wait until they’re 3 minutes apart. Kill me now, Firecrotch.”

Ian grins and leans over, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. “Not until after Aileen’s here,” he says. 

***

Ian hates seeing Mickey in pain. Mickey has another contraction, his 6th one now (Ian’s been keeping track), and he curls in on himself and lets out a groan that sounds like he’s dying. Ian would do anything to take away his pain, but he supposes that’s the wonderful adventures of childbirth, and really, what’s 24 hours of pain if it means he gets a lifetime with his daughter?

Christ, his _daughter._

Ian’s ecstatic. He’s loved Aileen from the moment Mickey told him about her, and now he’ll finally get to hold her, to look at her, to hear her. 

He just has to get through a few more hours of this. 

“Fucking hell, I’m going to die,” Mickey complains. 

“You’re not going to die,” Ian reassures him. “Thousands of people do this every day.” 

“How would you know? You’re not the one who’s body is trying to kill itself!” Mickey snaps, and Ian figures it’s wiser to just keep his mouth shut. 

The last contraction had gone on for 60 seconds, and Mickey is slumped against Ian now, exhausted. 

“Here, drink some water,” Ian says, holding up a glass to Mickey’s lips. It’s lunchtime (12:30, to be exact), so Ian had brought a sandwich for himself and a granola bar for Mickey up to their room. Mickey sighs and lets Ian feed him the water slowly. He’s sweating lightly, and Ian knows it’s smart to keep him hydrated. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” Mickey grunts out. “Your abdomen cramping up like you’re going to barf kinda takes that away.” 

So Ian brought that granola bar up for nothing. Mickey snuggles down into their bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He turns on his side and scoots closer to Ian, who’s sitting upright, eating his lunch. 

“Tired,” he sighs, and Ian reaches down to brush his fingers through Mickey’s hair. It’s soft against his skin. 

Mickey has another contraction at 1:30, while they’re in the bathroom, then another one at 2:45. They’re getting longer and closer together, and Ian’s thinking that the time to push might not be so far away. 

Fiona pokes her head in their room to check on them at 3 o’clock, saying that she took her afternoon job off for today to be around for the birth. Ian’s surprised. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to take care of her?” he asks. 

“Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I can’t see my niece,” Fiona replies. “I just ain’t changing a single diaper. And besides, I think only 3 people for a birth you’ve never done before at home isn’t enough.”

Half an hour later, Mickey has his 9th contraction of the day, and makes Ian run him a bath. 

“All my joints feel like rubber,” he says, then sighs as he slides down into the hot water. Ian joins him, sitting behind him, with his knees on either side of Mickey’s body. They’re drying off when another contraction runs through Mickey’s body. He stumbles, gripping onto Ian and then they’re falling. 

“Fuck!” Ian lets out as he and Mickey hit the floor. He holds onto Mickey as hard as he can, which is proved difficult, as they're both soaking wet. Mickey shakes through this contraction, letting out a loud groan. His fingernails bite into Ian’s skin, but he doesn’t care. Ian starts counting the seconds in his head. 80. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks when it’s over and Mickey is burying his face in his chest. 

He shakes his head slowly. 

Panic runs through Ian, because that was a rather hard fall. “Are you hurt?” 

He shakes his head again. “Wanna sit down,” he mumbles out. 

“That might be the best idea,” Ian says. He helps Mickey up and they dress slowly. Debbie’s out in the hall when they get out of the bathroom, looking concerned. 

“What happened?” she asks. 

“We just fell, that’s all,” Ian replies, more concerned on helping Mickey down the stairs. 

Mickey takes up residence on the couch, leaning up against the armrest and spreading legs out to the other side, panting lightly. Ian gets him some more water, and watches him as he drinks it. 

“Should I call V?” he asks, and Mickey shakes his head. 

“Not yet,” he groans. “Little bit longer.” He reaches out with his hand, and Ian grabs it, gently rubbing his fingers over his knuckles. “You’re doing really good,” he says, and gets a weak “Fuck off” in return. 

It crosses Ian’s mind to let Lip know that Mickey’s in labor all of a sudden, and he pulls out his ancient flip phone that he tries not to use a lot because he can’t pay for the minutes, and shoots Lip a text. 

Mickey dozes on and off, and Ian turns on the TV, keeping the volume low. Lip texts back a while later, demanding that Ian keeps him updated, but that he can’t go back home. Ian wishes that Lip could’ve done more, but what, he’s not exactly sure. He knows Mickey wouldn’t want him to be there- the less people the better, and he figures it’s not like he can come home anyway, with the whole Fiona thing going on. He guesses that he just wants another person there in his same situation- first time teenage father, not knowing what the fuck they’re doing. 

Mickey has yet another contraction at 5:00, on the dot. He makes a sound like a battle cry through it, and grips Ian’s hand until his fingers turn white. 

“What the hell is that noise?” Carl says, coming downstairs, the king of wrong timing. “Woah, is the baby coming out?”

“Fuck off,” Ian snaps as Mickey lets out a whine like he was kicked in the ribs. Ian glances back down at him, surprised to see tears in his eyes. 

“It looks like he’s taking a shit.” 

“Carl, get the fuck out of here, I’m serious!” 

Carl has enough brain cells to scamper away at Ian’s dangerous tone. Ian turns back to Mickey, who’s breath is now hitching dangerously, and is still curled in on himself and shaking. The contraction ends after a while, and he collapses back, panting like a racehorse.

“Are you okay?” Ian asks gently. Mickey’s eyes are still wet. 

“This- this fucking hurts, man,” Mickey whisperes. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“You can do this,” Ian urges. “You wanna know why?”

“Humor me.”

“Because you’re Mickey fucking Milkovich. You’ve survived in this neighborhood for this long, you can push out a kid.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes. “You’re a poet, Gallagher.” Then he bolts upright, and gasps, letting out an “Oh, fuck!” 

Ian’s heart leaps to his throat. “Are you okay?”

“Jesus, shit, it’s fucking _wet_ ,” Mickey hisses out, squirming in his seat. 

“What?” 

“My water broke, genius.” 

“What- really?” Ian ducks his head, feeling with his hand the cushion between Mickey’s spread legs, and finds that it’s soaking wet. 

“Ah, fuck,” Mickey groans out.

Ian calls out for Fiona, then helps Mickey stand up on his wobbly legs. 

“What? What’s happened? Is something wrong?” Fiona blurts out as she jumps down the stairs. 

“My water broke on your couch,” Mickey says matter-of-factly. “Sorry.” After Fiona freaks out for a bit, then starts to complain about how to get the couch dry, Ian leads Mickey over into the kitchen. On their way there, Mickey gets another contraction, and Ian directs him to a chair. Mickey leans over and groans through it, and Ian rubs his back gently. This one takes only 60 seconds, and Mickey is tugging on Ian’s arms to stand up shortly. 

In the kitchen (which is blissfully empty), Ian grabs paper towels and hand towels, soaking the paper towels in water, then leads Mickey over to the tiny downstairs bathroom, not wanting to risk getting Mickey upstairs to the bigger one. It’s cramped, between the two of them and Aileen, but they make it work. Wordlessly, Mickey leans over the toilet and Ian tugs his sweatpants and boxers down, getting to work cleaning the amniotic fluid off of his thighs and ass. 

Ian knows Mickey, and he knows how humiliating this is for Mickey, he doesn't even need to see the flush that’s spreading across the back of Mickey’s neck to know. 

“Shit,” Ian swears when he’s drying Mickey’s bottom half off, realizing that he had basically given Mickey a sponge bath, but didn’t have any clothes for him to change into. “Stay here,” he instructs, then leaves. 

“Yeah, like I can fucking go anywhere right now,” Mickey shoots back. Ian takes the stairs two at a time, grabs a clean pair of boxers and his own sweatpants, so they’ll be loose on Mickey, and is back down in record time. He helps Mickey step into the dry clothes and tugs them up over his hips. 

Mickey leans into Ian when he’s done, tucking his head underneath his chin. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey, leaning slightly back so he doesn’t crush their daughter. 

***

When Mickey and Ian make their way back into the living room, Fiona is scrubbing the couch with a sponge. 

“You’re not sitting here anymore,” she says, then points over to an armchair in the corner that she’s draped with towels. “You can sit over there.” He supposes he deserves that for basically pissing all over her couch.

Ian eases Mickey into the seat, and Mickey is grateful to take the pressure off his swollen ankles. He’s heard of some people wanting to walk around while in labor, but he is not one of those people. His legs, hips, pelvis, _everything_ hurts so fucking much.

“It’s 5:40 right now,” Ian reports. “You’ve been in labor for at least 15 hours now. Should I call V?”

At any other time, Mickey would say no. But right now, he’s tired and he’s scared because he has no fucking idea what he’s doing, or if he has enough strength to push Aileen out, so he just nods. Ian goes off to call V, and Fiona continues to scrub the couch. As Mickey settles down, he can feel a tiny spot of wetness between his thighs, and remembers reading that he’ll probably “leak” up until he starts pushing, as the amniotic sac has ruptured, but his body still hasn’t stopped producing the fluid. 

“Wanna hurry up and get out here?” he mumbles to Aileen, making sure he’s quiet enough that Fiona won’t hear him. “This is getting old.” 

Veronica is over in 7 minutes. 

She comes in like a whirlwind, all business and demanding Ian tell her when exactly his last contraction was. 

“Um… 5:15?” Ian says. 

“Okay, and your water broke how long ago?” she asks, turning to Mickey. 

“Like 20 minutes ago,” he replies, praising himself for being more clear than Ian. 

“Ian, I’m going to need you to check how dilated he is.” 

Mickey’s pretty sure he makes a face. “What?” 

Veronica glances at Fiona. “You might wanna get out of here, it’s gonna get pretty ugly.” Fiona doesn’t need to be told twice. “I looked all this shit up as soon as I agreed to do this, so I know what I’m talking about,” she says, and Mickey wonders briefly if maybe he should’ve gone with a hospital birth. “Ian’s you’re going to have to check with your finger. Now, his cervix is going to be slightly to the left and slightly forward, and all you’re going to need to tell me is how much wiggle room your finger has, and I’ll make my best guess.”

Ian’s silent for a second. “What?”

“Stick your finger up his ass, already!” Veronica lets out. 

“Oh, fuck no!” Mickey spits out. He’s not doing it for an _audience._

“Calm down, I’ll have my back turned, and it’s nothing you haven’t done already, right?”

Begrudgingly, Mickey agrees. He knows it needs to be done because it’ll tell them exactly when his baby is going to get here, but he’d much rather use x-ray vision or some shit than Ian sticking a finger up his ass in the middle of the living room with their neighbor. 

It takes a while for Mickey to flip over. His stomach is cumbersome and his joints protest with every inch. Ian rubs a hand on his back, and it would be sexual in literally any other setting. They don’t need lube or anything, as his channel is still wet with amniotic fluid, and he hates that fact. Ian slips his middle finger in, and Mickey can feel him pressing around, trying to find his cervix. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he snaps, wanting to finish before Debbie or Carl accidentally meanders down. 

“I can’t exactly _see_ what I’m doing right now,” Ian says, then all of a sudden, Mickey feels Ian’s finger press deeper into him, into a place he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. It’s not his prostate, because that’s lower and more forward, but this place is slightly higher up in his ass, and like V said, slightly to the left. 

“Right there,” he gasps out, as pleasure tingles through his spine at this new feeling. 

“Um, okay,” Ian says, then falls silent for a few seconds before pulling his finger out. He gets Mickey redressed and resituated before he tells V to turn around. 

“What did you feel?” she asks. 

Ian, the fucker, fucking holds up one of his fingers and makes a circle around it with the fingers of his other hands, like the typical “sex” hand sign. “About this much room?” he says. 

Veronica nods seriously. “I’d say about 5 or 6 centimeters,” she says. “Halfway there!” 

“Great,” Mickey grumbles out. 

It goes on like that for a while. Mickey has painful contractions and tries to break all of Ian’s fingers, then Ian checks how dilated he is after every third contraction. They’re really close to each other now, about 20 minutes apart. One time, Ian’s finger is inside of him as Mickey has his contraction, and he pulls it out quickly, saying he could _feel_ Mickey’s walls pulse around him. Mickey hits him for that. 

Fiona starts making dinner at 6:30, and it’s really fucking weird, the fact that he’s literally pushing out a baby over here, while she’s just cooking spaghetti. Debbie and Carl come down sometime later, but they thankfully don’t say anything to him. 

Sometime after 7, after Ian checked how dilated he was again, V announces that he’s 7 centimeters dilated and is now entering the “transitional” phase of labor, which means that his cervix will fully dilate to 10 centimeters and he can start to push. She says it so excitedly, but Mickey knows he’ll only have more intense contractions from here on out. 

He starts to sweat like a cow on his next one, and Ian lays a cool cloth over his forehead after, and _fuck_ that’s nice. Mickey grabs his hand as he’s stroking his hair, and holds on tight. 

“When all this is over, I’m cutting off your balls,” he says seriously. 

Transitional contractions are a fucking bitch. 

With each contraction, his cervix starts to dilate more and more, and in 40 minutes V says that Mickey’s 10 centimeters dilated. 

“At any contraction now, you’re going to feel the need to push, and you’re going to do it, okay? You’re doing great so far,” she says, and Mickey feels his veins run cold. He grabs onto Ian’s hand and squeezes hard, and Ian squeezes back. Mickey’s scared- he really is. Everything up to this point has been relatively easy. He’s just had to lay back and let the contractions wreck his body, but now he actually has to do something- he has to _push_. 

The next two contractions feel sort of the same as the other ones, although the cramping in his gut is much more intense. Ian wipes his sweaty forehead with a warm cloth, and rubs his hips through it. His third contraction, however, he can feel a pressure in the top of his rectum, like he has to take a shit, and he lets out a loud groan and bears down. 

“Shit Mickey, are you pushing right now?” Ian says, always late to the party. 

Mickey barely manages to nod, too focused on delivering what feels like the biggest shit in his life. It lasts for nearly a minute, and he’s completely exhausted by the end, collapsing back against the chair and panting. 

“Alright, it’s go time, mama!” Veronica says. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey snaps at her. 

Veronica instructs Mickey to flip over, so that he’s kneeling on the chair with his arms resting on the back of it. It’s an undignified process, with Ian helping him and him getting yet another contraction halfway through, so that he has to go right back to sitting up. They finally make it, however, but now he’s facing away from everyone else, his legs spread wide and feet dangling off the end of the chair, feeling rather awkward. 

He feels Ian’s hand rubbing his back and another contraction rips through him. His abdomen cramps up again, and the need to push comes back tenfold. He immediately grabs onto Ian’s hand and lets a groan bubble out of him. When all this is over and done, he’ll kill anyone who mentions it again. He has to admit, though, pushing while he’s in this position is so much fucking better. He can breathe easier, and he doesn’t feel like he’s crushing his colon. 

“We’re going to have to get you undressed,” V says when the contraction is over and his forehead and resting between his hands and he’s panting. 

“God, no,” he groans out. 

“Really, though. You could push her out at any second now.”

It’s humiliating, is what it is. Ian has to help him ease his sweatpants and boxers off, and then his naked ass is out for everyone to see. Ian returns to up near his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“Just a little bit longer,” Ian says, and Mickey doesn’t have the energy to reply. 

After his next contraction, Ian fingers him again, to check his progress. His finger is a good way’s way up Mickey’s ass when he suddenly gasps. 

“What?” V says. 

“I can feel her head!” Ian says. Mickey’s stomach twists up, a mixture of anxiety and excitedness. 

“Okay, that means she’ll be out in the next couple of pushes or so. Fiona, can you grab more towels?”

 _Fiona was here?_ Mickey twists his head around to see, sure enough, the oldest Gallager kid leaving the living room. Ian comes into his view, his mouth stretched into a lopsided grin. 

Two contractions pass without much excitement. Fiona comes back down and spreads towles out on the floor around the chair Mickey’s currently on, then hands Ian a soft blanket they had bought on their trip to the Northside and had planned to be the first thing Aileen is wrapped in. 

On the next contraction, he feels a _fullness_ inside his ass, like a tremendous pressure, not unlike Ian’s dick, but that is not the thought he should be feeling right now. He shakes it out of his head, and finally manages to let out a “Fuck!”, reaching behind to claw at his own ass. 

When the contraction ends and he can talk again, he starts babbling. “Fuck, Ian,” he whimpers. “She’s right there- I can feel her- she’s coming soon, Christ, I don’t- I can’t-”

Suddenly, the realization that he’s going to have a real, live human _being_ that’s going to depend on him for food, for hygiene, for safety, is all too much, and he doesn’t know if he can do it. He’s never striven for anything in his whole entire life, how the fuck is he supposed to take care of his daughter? He’s never held a baby before, never fed a baby before, never changed a baby before, come to think of it, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually _seen_ a baby up close before. 

“I can’t do this,” he ends his voice just above a whisper, and then Ian’s there, concern written on his face, his green eyes seeming to glow, his hands soothing as they pet down Mickey’s back, and he realizes- 

He loves Ian Gallagher. 

He really, really fucking loves him. And really, after all the shit they’ve gone through, between him getting shot, between jail, between getting pregnant, between Terry, and now, how can he not love Ian Gallagher?

It’s not like the fucker makes it hard, anyway. 

Ian starts babbling just as he had done, something about how Mickey is so strong, and he has to hold out just for a little while longer, and then Aileen will be here, and they’ll have a daughter.

The next contraction hits while Ian is mid-speak, and this one is accompanied with a burning sensation around his rim. It builds and builds and builds, and he feels like he’s going to tear in two. 

“She’s crowning!” V shouts from near his ass, where she had taken up residence after Ian had moved away. 

“Shit, really?” Fiona says from somewhere behind him. Ian glances at his ass, and gasps. 

“I can see her head!” 

“You’re not going to have any more contractions, now that she’s out of your uterus, so you’re going to have to push on your own,” V says. “Go slowly so you don’t tear, okay?”

Mickey doesn’t wait long. He starts to push, and the burning sensation only increases. He’s pretty sure he shouts, although everything’s in a weird haze and he breathes in and his lungs make a weird wheezing sound, and then suddenly everyone’s shouting. 

“Her head’s out! Her head’s out!” V says. 

Mickey pants, grabbing onto Ian’s hand when he tries to move away. 

“Mickey,” Ian says, grinning at him. He lets out a giddy laugh. “You’re so fucking incredible. God- I can see her!” 

V instructs Fiona to start boiling water and sterilize scissors for the cord, and Mickey tries to twist his head back to try and see his daughter, but gives up when he realizes that it’s stupid. His movement causes him to shift his hips and his ass however, and then he can _feel_ her, her head poking out, but the rest of her still fitting snugly inside her. He gasps at the weird sensation. 

“Just a few more pushes, and she’s out,” V instructs, and something snaps inside of Mickey. She’s not Ian, she’s not his daughter, she’s not family, she’s just some weird fucking stranger they’ve asked to assist them with the birth. Mickey suddenly doesn’t even know why they asked her in the first place, they can do this on their own.

“Christ, will you shut the fuck up and go away!” he shouts at her, and V takes a step back, looking surprised. “Ian, move to my ass, do you want Aileen to land on the fucking floor?” he snaps at his boyfriend when he realizes he’s just standing there. Ian visibly shakes himself and does as Mickey says, positioning himself behind Mickey’s ass, a towel in his hands, ready to catch their daughter. 

Mickey starts to push, slow at first, then harder. He misses Ian’s hand to grab, but clamps his hand around one of the towels thrown across the back of the chair instead. He shouts some words, he’s not even sure what they are, and black spots appear in his vision with the effort he’s exerting right now. He feels himself being stretched to his limits (literally and figuratively), and he almost wants to quit, but his body won’t let him. He gives one final push, and then he feels his daughter leave his body, an empty feeling immediately replacing her. 

***

Mickey’s cursing his dick out, but Ian doesn’t care, not when he’s crouched down near Mickey’s ass, his towel-covered hands gently wrapped around his daughter’s shoulders which Mickey just pushed out, guiding her out into the world. 

“Fuck!” Mickey screams, and then all of a sudden there’s a baby in Ian’s hands, wet with amniotic fluid and covered in blood and vernix, and it’s his fucking _daughter_. 

“Oh my god!” he bursts out, staring down at her. “Mick!” 

Her eyes are puffy, and her face is squashed, but she’s so fucking perfect, and Ian has never loved someone more, except maybe Mickey. He doesn’t even think about it, he just knows he’s loved Mickey. Maybe he’s always loved Mickey, but he loves him especially now, and he loves their daughter. 

She begins to cry, and it pierces Ian’s heart. He supports her neck and back with one hand and wraps the towel around her, gently cleaning her. He walks in his crouched position around to the front of the chair, as far as her umbilical cord that’s still attached to Mickey can reach. Mickey’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open in shock as he reaches out, his hands gently cupping their newborn’s head. 

***

She’s the most beautiful thing Mickey thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

Suddenly, scenes flash before his eyes- her first steps, her first word, her first day of preschool, then first grade, her first friend she brings home, her first day of middle school, her first crush, her first period (Mickey dreads that one), her first day of high school, her first fight, her first boyfriend, her first heartbreak, her first day of college, and then Mickey starts to choke up. 

Her head is slimy and wet when he goes to touch her, but it just solidifies the fact that she’s her own person, that Ian and Mickey have made such an incredible individual. She’s still crying though, screaming her lungs out, letting the world know she’s there. 

Ian’s toweling her off, wiping off the blood and vernix, revealing rosy pink skin underneath. Mickey can’t stop touching her, and his hand moves down to her chest as Ian wipes off her head. She starts coughing, expelling bits of amniotic fluid out of nose and mouth, and Mickey lets out a laugh. Christ, her first _cough._

“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, moving over to hold her with Ian. Ian leans back, grinning like a maniac, letting him bring her as close to his body as he can. “It’s okay, Daddy’s here.”

She nuzzles into his hand, recognizing his voice, or just reacting to touch, and Mickey feels his nose itch and tears prick at his eyes. He glances up at Ian, to find that he’s staring at him, and Mickey leans over and slots their mouths together. Mickey feels wetness on his cheeks, and when he pulls back, he learns that they’re Ian’s tears, not his. Tears are streaming down Ian’s face, and his nose is bright red, but he’s still smiling. 

***

Ian’s crying, but he doesn’t care. Mickey’s smiling and crying a little himself, and they’re both holding their daughter, together. Ian never wants to let her go.

But then V says, “I hate to break up this moment, but Ian, you should probably cut the cord.”

Ian glances behind them. V and Fiona are standing side by side, Fiona holding the sterilized scissors and a bobby pin, and V smiling widely, being yelled at by Mickey forgotten. Ian leans down and presses a kiss to Aileen’s temple before sliding his hands away, letting Mickey hold her by himself. Her crying has lulled some, although she’s still making loud whimpers. 

Ian takes the tools from Fiona, wanting to cut her cord as soon as possible, so Mickey won’t have to be in the weird half-turned around position he’s in right now for any longer. Ian clamps the umbilical cord near her belly with the bobby pin, then takes a deep breath and snips just behind the pin with the scissors. Immediately, Mickey drags Aileen to his front, pressing her close to him. Ian lets the scissors drop to the floor and follows her, moving to be face-to-face with Mickey, awkwardly half-crouching on his knees. 

Mickey’s breathing heavily, panting, as he stares down at their daughter. 

“She’s beautiful,” Ian says. 

“‘Course she is,” Mickey replies. “Aileen Laura.” 

They stare at her for a few more minutes, before Mickey has a few brief and weak contractions and delivers the placenta. Fiona catches it in an inside-out plastic bag, making a face as she wraps it up. With the help of Veronica, Mickey is turned around and sits heavily down on the chair, handing Aileen off to Ian while he wrestles out of his shirt.

Mickey settles back down into the chair with a sigh and takes the baby from Ian, pressing her up close to his chest. 

***

Mickey had never knew that this moment would happen. Hell, he had never wanted this moment to happen. But now, here he is, with his tiny newborn daughter pressed against his skin, his boyfriend kneeling next to them, them holding her together. 

They’ve transferred Aileen from the towel covered in assorted fluids to the soft, pastel yellow blanket with the tiny leaves printed on it that Mickey immediately knew he _had_ to have as soon as he saw. Her hair’s starting to dry off now, and Mickey can see it’s a light brown color, thin and sticking up everywhere. He’s half disappointed at the fact that she doesn’t have Ian’s hair, but she does have Ian’s round nose and his cupid bow’s lips. 

She yawns widely right then, and then her eyes pop open and Mickey’s staring right into his daughter for the first time. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes out, reaching out with one finger to gently touch her fist that’s raising up towards his face. Her eyes are blue, so blue, and they go cross-eyed the more she stares at him. 

“Hello,” Ian coos out, and her eyes immediately flick over to him. She blinks, and Mickey is struck with how she’s literally 30 minutes old and she’s already so intelligent. 

“That’s your papa,” Mickey tells her, without even thinking about it. Ian lets out a breathy laugh, and then Aileen eyes are sliding shut again. 

Mickey glances up for the first time to see that Fiona’s still there, sitting on the couch and watching the couple with a smile on her face. Mickey nods at her, and she nods back. 

“She’s really cute,” she says. “You guys did a great job.”

“She was born at exactly 8:14,” Veronica says, coming over with a glass of water for Mickey. He takes it, shifting some of Aileen’s weight over to Ian, and downs it in long sips. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until now. “I had Fiona record the time.” 

8:14 on November 21. Mickey’s going to remember that forever. 

He and Ian continue to stare at Aileen some more, and eventually Debbie and Carl wander downstairs, drawn by the silence. Mickey doesn’t let them hold her, he won’t let anyone else hold her, ever, he decides, but he lets them peer over Ian’s shoulder. 

“She’s tiny,” Debbie observes. 

“You were that tiny once, too,” Fiona says. 

“Wow! I’m an uncle!” Carl says. “I can’t wait to tell Little Hank about it!” 

Ian chuckles and ruffles his hair, shoving his head away. “Now that you’re an uncle, you’re going to have to start acting like an old man, Carl,” he says, and Carl makes a face. 

“She looks like Ian,” Debbie says then. 

Mickey stares down at Aileen. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She really does.” 

“But she has your eyes,” Ian says to Mickey. 

“All babies are born with blue eyes, dumbass,” Mickey retorts. “All the white ones, at least.”

Debbie and Carl wander away in a few minutes, and Fiona and V leave to drink in the kitchen, and then it’s just Mickey and Ian and Aileen. 

It’s always been Mickey and Ian, even since Mickey started hanging around the Gallagher house. Like a power duo, or some shit, they did everything together, and were never far from each other. Where Mickey went, Ian went, and where Ian went, Mickey went. But now, they’ve added a third member to their little party, their tiny, tiny daughter. Mickey and Ian and Aileen. Mickey likes that. 

It doesn’t take long for Aileen to start letting out little whimpers and fussing in their arms. Mickey’s heart beats faster. This is her first real cry. Her first real cry that actually means something, not just the cry of first life. And he has no idea what she wants. It could be anything from she’s too hot to she’s too cold to she took a shit (he hopes not, because they haven’t put a diaper on her yet) to she’s hungry- oh. 

She’s probably hungry, with the way her nose twitches and she tries to strain her head up, but her neck is too weak for that yet. 

“I’m gonna feed her,” he mumbles, half to himself, half to Ian, and together they lift her up, supporting her so that she’s on her side, facing Mickey, her body at an angle so that her head is near his right nipple. 

“I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing,” he says out loud. 

“Good, because neither do I,” Ian replies, holding the back of Aileen’s head steady. “We’ll figure it out together.” 

Mickey presses his nipple into Aileen’s face, trying to get her to latch. She doesn’t seem to know how to open her mouth yet, and for a few seconds, there’s an awkward struggle. But then she parts her lips and his nipple slips in easily, and he gasps. 

“You good?” Ian asks. 

“Yeah, it’s just… weird,” Mickey replies. She immediately starts to suck, and Mickey feels a pulling sensation in his chest. It's a relief that he didn’t know he needed until now. Ian gently strokes her head as she continues to feed. After a while, she turns her head and the nipple pops out, and her face screws up and Mickey wishes he could wave a magic wand and take away her discomfort. 

“D’you think she’s full?” Ian asks. 

Mickey touches his right tit, which is now significantly flatter than his left one. “No, I think it’s empty. Let’s switch her over and we’ll see if she’s still hungry.” 

Ian gently switches her around, and helps Mickey hold her tilted up on the other side. She latches on to his left nipple with some prompting, and is soon feeding on that one. 

Mickey leans back in the chair, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He lets his eyes slide shut, wondering if he could fall asleep during this. 

“I think we’re supposed to be writing this down,” Ian says, then gets up and grabs a piece of paper from the desk that’s tucked away in the corner of the living room. “Okay, uh, _9:05 feeding_ ,” he scribbles down in his neat, tiny handwriting. 

“Hmm,” is all Mickey can muster out. He gently strokes Aileen’s back, feeling the softness of her skin. She stops feeding after a while and snuggles down into his arm, falling asleep. Mickey wants to do the same. 

“Before you pass out, we should weigh her and put a diaper on her,” Ian says. The fucker is smiling, like it’s funny that he spent 18 hours in labor and now wants to take a nap. 

“Fine, you can do that,” Mickey mumbles out. His eyelids are too heavy. 

Ian grabs a blanket and wraps it around Mickey’s shoulders, draping it across his chest and offering him a bit of modesty. “Wait here,” he instructs, then bounds away. 

“Yeah, like I can fucking go anywhere,” Mickey calls after him. 

Ian comes back a minute later with a diaper, a baby hat, and the scale from the bathroom, with V and Fiona in tow. The women coo over the baby while Ian sets the scale up. 

“I was thinking we should weigh her first, then clothe her so that we don’t get an off reading or whatever.” 

Mickey shakes himself, and stands up with Aileen. All of his joints pop, and his hips groan in protest. It’s the first time he’s tried to stand since birth, and his body is not having it. He forces himself to walk over to Ian and hand Aileen off to him, then plop down on the couch, wrapping the blanket on his shoulders tighter around himself. 

Aileen fidgets a little as Ian places her on the scale, one hand steadying her, as he waits for the numbers to finish moving up and down. 

“7 pounds, 8 ounces,” he reports, grinning. 

“God, she’s tiny,” Fiona says, reaching out with a hand to stroke Aileen’s waving fist. 

Mickey tenses. He knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t want any touching his daughter right now, specifically anyone who isn’t Ian. 

“Get her length, too,” Veronica says, handing Ian a flexible tape measure that Mickey guessed she pulled out of her ass. Ian holds one end of the tape measure up by her head, then brings the other end down to her toes, and reads the results. 

“18.9 inches.” 

“Better write that down somewhere,” Fiona says. “You’ll need it for the birth certificate.” 

“Shit, we need to get one of those,” Ian says, grabbing a diaper. “Mick, want to do the honors, or should I?” 

Mickey jerks up at the sound of his name. He’s so tired he zoned out for the past minute. “Hmm?” 

“Diaper?” Ian says, holding it up. Mickey glances down at Aileen, squirming slightly on the coffee table. 

“Uh- yeah.” He slides off the couch and hits the ground hard, hissing when his ass makes contact with the floor. He’s sore and it _hurts_ , like he’s worked out too hard, except in his asshole. 

Ian just chuckles. “I’ll do it,” he says. He gently grabs her ankles and lifts them up while he slides the diaper under her butt, then settles her back down. He tucks the front half between her legs, bringing it up to her waist and sticks it to the back half, patting her tummy when he’s done. He then swaddles her up in her blanket, just like they’d practiced with Debbie’s dolls. He picks her up and tucks her in his arms, turning to Mickey when he’s done.

“Wanna go upstairs and sleep?” he asks. 

“God, yes,” Mickey responds. Fiona helps him up, and he leans heavily on her. They make their way slowly over to the stairs, Mickey waddling from his stomach still being completely stretched out and the pain in his ass. Actually going up the stairs is a whole nother story. They go probably one step per 10 seconds. 

“Remind me again why you live in a two story house?” Mickey mumbles out. 

Ian chuckles. “Because it’s the house Frank got from his aunt Ginger,” he says.

“Illegally,” Fiona adds. 

They finally make their way upstairs, and make a beeline right to their room. Mickey’s ready to pass the fuck out in his comfy bed with his newborn daughter and boyfriend, and sleep for the next 20 years. 

Fiona helps him get settled on their bed, from where he watches as Ian bends over the bassinet that they’ve set up right next to their bed (on Mickey’s side), gently placing Aileen down. 

“Holler if you need anything, alright?” Fiona says, and they nod. She leaves, shutting the door behind them, and then they’re completely alone. 

“I’m fucking naked,” Mickey observes, glancing down at his body that is only clothed in two blankets now. It must be the exhaustion, that’s making him loose-lipped like this. 

Ian laughs softly. “You just had a baby, Mick,” he says. 

Mickey grins. “Yeah, I did.” _Fuck yeah, I did._

Ian stands up and grabs him a pair of clean boxers and a big t-shirt, helping him into his clothes. Mickey collapses on his side and Ian slides up behind him. Mickey reaches out, his fingers brushing against the bassinet, where his daughter is lying. 

“I love her,” Mickey says. 

“I love her, too,” says Ian back. “She’s perfect, Mickey. I love you.” 

It feels so natural, so _right,_ that Mickey doesn’t hesitate to say, “I love you too.” And then his eyelids droop and he welcomes the darkness of sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Aileen is finally here! How do ya'll think Ian and Mickey will cope with being first-time parents?  
> As always, comments and kudos are my crack!


	15. Just Like the Pilgrims Intended, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip peers over her shoulder, staring down at his son.   
> His son…   
> “Oh no,” V says.   
> “That thing looks weird,” Carl says. “Aileen didn’t look like that.”  
> His son…   
> “What’s wrong with him?” Debbie asks.  
> 2.11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuteness overload, followed immediately by depressing stuff. So basically, just an average episode of Shameless!
> 
> Warning: suicide attempt, blood, another birth.

Ian’s pulled out of the depths of sleep by a loud, continuous crying.

_Aileen._

He jumps out of bed, tense and ready to reach his daughter, but his muscles haven’t caught up with his brain yet, and his legs get tangled in the blankets and he crashes in an undignified manner to the floor. 

“Ow,” he groans, rolling over. 

“Whassgoingon?” Mickey mumbles, just waking up himself. “Aw, shit,” he says, shifts into an upright position, picks Aileen up from her bassinet and cuddles her up to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay,” he shushes her gently. Her cries lull some. “You’re hungry, right? I heard you don’t need to take a shit for a couple hours.” He wrestles with his shirt and the baby for a bit, before glancing over at Ian. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Uh…” Ian feels his face burn as he forces his legs to work and stands up, climbing back into bed. 

“Hold her while I get my shirt off,” Mickey instructs, handing Aileen over. 

She’s still crying, her eyes screwed up and her mouth falling open. Ian bounces her gently, cooing gently, trying to get her to calm down. “Hi Aileen. You’re okay.” 

Mickey wrestles the t-shirt over his head, then takes Aileen from Ian, holding her up to his chest. He fumbles around with her for a bit, trying to get her to latch on. Eventually, she does, and Mickey leans back with a sigh. 

Ian scoots over close to Mickey, helping him hold Aileen up, knowing his arms are going to get tired soon. It’s incredible, he thinks, that she’s only… (he glances at the clock) 7 hours old and yet she’s already so smart. She feeds for nearly 40 minutes, while Mickey nods off for a bit. 

“I can put her back,” Ian offers when she’s done, and Mickey nods, handing her off. Ian lays her gently down in the bassinet. She’s already asleep once again, breathing steadily. 

Ian barely falls back to sleep when Aileen starts crying again at 4 in the morning. This time, however, she needs to be changed. Ian nearly gags when he unwraps her and takes off her diaper. Her shit is greenish-black and rather runny, and Mickey’s face screws up when he tosses her old diaper into the trash. She stops crying, but instead makes tiny little whimpers. Ian wipes her down with baby wipes while Mickey gets another diaper, sliding it underneath her rear himself this time. Mickey swaddles her up again, too, this time with one of their other blankets- navy blue, with tiny little white stars all over.

Mickey picks her up and holds her in the crook of her arm, and she fits like she was always meant to be there. Ian thinks that maybe she has. Mickey’s never looked more beautiful in this moment, staring down at their daughter with awe, like he’s looking at her for the first time again. When they fall back to sleep, Mickey’s hand is dangling in the bassinet. 

Aileen wakes them up once again, 2 hours later, to feed again. The weak, November morning sun is just barely peeking through the slots on either side of the window shades, casting the room into a faint white glow. She feeds for 45 minutes this time, and Ian jots that down on the care log they started last night. Once she’s done, Mickey hands her to Ian and announces that he’s going to pee. 

“By yourself?” Ian says, and Mickey shoots him a glare. He watches him stumble out of their bedroom, his stomach still huge, then focuses his attention all on Aileen. 

His shirt is off, and she’s snuggled up against his bare chest, her blanket swaddle half unwrapped to get that skin-on-skin contact all the baby websites keep screaming at him she needs. She’s more awake this time, her eyes just barely open, as much as she can open them through her swollen eyelids, and she’s nuzzling into his chest. He brings a finger up and gently strokes her cheek, and she just blinks at him. 

“I love you,” he tells her. “God, I love you so much.” He rubs her back and thinks that if the rest of his entire life was spent here, in this moment, he wouldn’t mind one bit. 

***

Mickey is sore as a motherfucker. He vaguely wonders how he’s supposed to take his next shit as he pisses over the toilet. His stomach is still stretched out, although it’s more like he’s 7 months pregnant rather than 9 now. He would much rather it be the size it was when he was 0 months pregnant. 

He leaves his boxers on the floor and grabs a tissue, wetting it under the faucet and bringing it behind himself to wipe at his asshole. The tissue is red. He knows he hasn’t torn or anything, it’s just the same blood that covered Aileen when she came out, but he still panics a little. He takes another wet tissue and wipes himself again, throwing them away before taking toilet paper and stuffing it in his boxers as he tugs them up his legs. 

He washes his hands and splashes water on his face. He’ll take a real shower sometime later, but this is probably as much hygiene as he can get right now. 

The house is quiet as he makes his way back to his and Ian’s, and now Aileen’s, room, and he suddenly remembers that it’s Thanksgiving day.

Ian is relaxing on the bed with Aileen cuddled up to his bare chest when he collapses back into their bed.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, like he didn’t just see her all of 5 minutes ago. 

“Is that Daddy?” Ian coos, shuffling his body so that he’s half facing Mickey. Mickey grins, reaching out and traces his finger down her neck and back. 

“We made a pretty baby, Mick,” Ian says. 

Mickey laughs. “Jesus, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be sleep deprived.” 

“I’m not sleep deprived,” Ian says, looking down at their daughter. “It’s the truth.”

Mickey snuggles up next to his boyfriend, studying Aileen. “Yeah, that is the truth.” 

Aileen grants them three more hours of beautiful, interrupted sleep, before she starts screaming. Her diaper needs to be changed again. The smell almost makes Mickey gag, but he tosses her diaper away before anything can come up, wipes her down, and puts another diaper on her. He’s going slow, being gentle, because she’s so tiny and he feels like he could snap her little legs in half if he rushes. He just finishes changing her when his abdomen cramps up, and he leans over. 

“What the fuck!” he manages out, making a sound like he’s been punched in the lung. 

“Woah!” Ian says, rushing over. “What’s going on?” 

“Ah, fuck, it’s one of those postpartum contractions, isn’t it?” Mickey realizes, rubbing his stomach. “Fuck, it hurts.” 

Ian entertains Aileen while pain rips through him. It’s just as bad as labor contractions, but it’s over in about 20 seconds, and there’s no back pain to accompany it, so he supposes he can get through them. He remembers Ian reading him something about his uterus shrinking back down, and he prays that means his stomach will shrink, too. 

“Should we put her in an outfit?” Ian asks, waving his fingers above Aileen’s eyes as she struggles to focus on them. 

“S’long as she wears the sage onesie.”

It takes them nearly 20 minutes to wrestle her into her clothes. They’re going slow, not wanting to hurt her, and dressing a baby is nothing like dressing a doll. Her arms wave everywhere, going in their own direction, and she actually starts crying in the middle of Ian putting her left leg in the onesie. 

Eventually though, she’s dressed in a pale green footed onesie with gold buttons running down her chest and belly, and then on the insides of her legs. Mickey dresses her in a white hat, so that her head doesn’t get cold, then picks her up, cradling her in the crook of his arm. 

“I need to shower,” he declares. His stomach growls loudly. “And eat.”

They make their way to the bathroom, and Mickey hears commotion from downstairs, signaling that the rest of the house is awake. Ian holds Aileen, who’s gone off to sleep again, while Mickey steps into the shower. The hot water feels amazing on his skin, and he washes off a fine layer of sweat from his body. He’s still really tired, but he figures he’s going to have to get used to that now. 

He showers as fast as he can, not wanting to spend another second separated from Aileen, and wraps his body in a towel before stepping out. Ian’s perched on the toilet seat, Aileen snuggled in his arms. 

“How’s your asshole feeling?” he asks. 

Mickey scoffs at Ian’s bluntless, peering at his reflection in the mirror. He feels so much better from just one shower. “Well, let’s just say you ain’t gonna be fucking me for a year,” he says. 

Ian laughs while he tugs on his boxers again, refreshing the toilet paper he stuffed inside, which had been dotted red, and pulls on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants that he’s pretty sure are Lip’s. When he’s done, he realizes that something’s missing, and turns to Ian, making grabby hands. 

“I wanna hold her,” he demands, and Ian passes Aileen off. “Bring the bassinet down so I can put her in it if my arms get tired,” he says, and Ian leans in close, pressing their lips together. 

A new sensation rolls over Mickey, the fact that his boyfriend is kissing him while he holds their newborn daughter, and holy fuck, this is his _family_ now, isn’t it? Sure, he’s still related to Mandy and Iggy and Colin and, unfortunately, Terry, and Ian’s still related to all of his crazy siblings, but they’ve created a new family together, one that’s unique and their own. 

Mickey sighs into the kiss and Ian holds onto him gently. He kisses Ian until his lungs are bursting and he pulls back, sucking in lungfuls of air. “I love you,” he says again, and it feels just as special as the first time.

“I love you,” Ian replies. “And you, sweetheart!” He bends down and presses a kiss to Aileen’s forehead, and she shuffles in his sleep. 

“Alright, you fucking sap,” Mickey says. “Should we go downstairs and get the awkward morning after conversations over?”

***

The first thing Ian sees is the dead bald eagle Kev’s holding up.

“What the fuck?” he bursts out, and everyone turns to look at them. 

“Ah, you’re up!” Fiona says at the same time Kev exclaims, “Hey, it's the newest member of the Gallagher clan!”

“Jesus, I thought Fiona was kidding when she said a baby was born last night,” Jimmy/Steve says. 

Ian glances at him. “What’s he doing here?”

“Kicked Lip out last night,” Fiona replies, starting another round of coffee. 

“Aw, looks at her little hands!” Kev says. His massive form is hunched over Aileen, his finger poking her fist. “Hey, V, this could be us some day!”

“Yeah, you could be fucking sleep deprived and ready to kill a son of a bitch, too,” Mickey snaps, moving away from Kev to sit down at the counter. Ian knows he’s uncomfortable with the amount of people around, but it still never fails to amaze him how quickly Mickey’s walls can go up. “Good thing she’s finally out and I can have coffee now,” he adds to Ian, who sets the bassinet down by the washing machine and takes a seat next to him, and on the other side of Debbie. 

“Morning!” she says brightly, peering around Ian to get a good look at Aileen. “I like her onesie.”

Mickey practically beams at that. “I know, right? It’s a good color on her.”

“You gonna tell us why there’s a bald eagle in here?” Ian asks, taking the cup of coffee Fiona hands him. 

“Carl shot it,” Kev responds. “It’s our Thanksgiving turkey!” 

“Cool,” Mickey says. “Fuck yeah America, right?”

“Am I seriously the only one who has a problem with the fact that we’re eating an eagle for Thanksgiving?” Jimmy asks.

“Beats the spam turkey,” V says, pointing over at the monstrosity Fiona makes every year. 

“Don’t forget to drink water,” Ian adds to Mickey in an undertone. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Yeah, thanks Mom,” Mickey says, waving him off in favor of taking a huge bite from the pancakes Fiona slid him. “God, that’s good,” he groans around a forkful.

Ian’s impressed that he's managed to eat food and hold a newborn on his lap. Carl comes in then, announcing he’s buried the eagle talon, for whatever reason, Ian doesn't want to know. 

“Can I hold her?” he asks when he spots Aileen. 

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Mickey replies. Ian starts to dig into the plate of pancakes Fiona set down before him. 

“Why not?” Carl whines. “I wanna hold my niece!” 

“Because you’re 10, bud,” Ian responds, leaning over to ruffle Carl’s close-cropped hair. “And she’s super delicate.”

“Fiona!” Carl complains, but Fiona only agrees with Mickey. Carl stomps away to annoy Debbie, and Fiona leans over the counter. 

“Can _I_ hold her?”

Mickey hesitates, and Ian knows that he wants to keep her close to himself, but he eventually nods and hands her over. 

“Aw, she’s so precious,” Fiona says, bouncing her lightly. V leans over her shoulder and they coo at the baby together as Kev goes over to start hacking up the bald eagle. 

“Well, this has been fun,” Jimmy announces. “And congrats, guys, but I’m going to go out and get us some real food.” He claps his hands together and grabs his jacket from the coat hook by the door. “I’ll be back in a few.” 

He bounds out, and Kev shakes his head. “Man’s such a pussy,” he says. “Who doesn’t want to eat bald eagle?” 

***

It feels so fucking good to get food in his stomach. Mickey had no idea how hungry he was until now. And thirsty, either. The gulps down 3 glasses of water before Aileen starts to cry again. They changed her diaper an hour ago, so Mickey knows she’s hungry. He takes her from Fiona and he and Ian go into the dining room, where they’re granted a little more privacy.

Ian grabs him a blanket from the living room and drapes it over his shoulder while he tugs his shirt up around his neck. 

As always, it takes Aileen a couple seconds to find his nipple and latch on, but he swears she’s getting better each time. She only nurses for 15 minutes this time, and he’s grateful, because as much as he hates large groups of people, there’s something about the voices of the Gallaghers and Co. that make him want to join them. He pulls his shirt back down and by the time he sets Aileen down in her bassinet by the washing machine, she’s out cold. 

Jimmy comes back a little later, after Fiona and V have cooked the eagle and filled the kitchen with the most disgusting smell Mickey’s ever smelt. 

“We are not having bald eagle for Thanksgiving!” Jimmy announces, throwing a huge, wrapped turkey down on the table. 

“Woah!” Carl exclaims, and he and Debbie scamper over to inspect it. “This thing’s huge!”

“You’re welcome, Tiny Tim,” Jimmy responds. 

“What are we supposed to do with this?” V asks, guestering to the dead eagle. 

“Toss it,” Fiona suggests. 

“Hell no!” Kev says from the dining room, where he and Ian are setting up the dining room table to fit the whole Gallagher clan. “Kill it, eat it. The hunter’s code. There’s no way we’re going to let the most sacred symbol of American _freedom_ and individual liberty go to waste.” He picks up the eagle by its legs and starts walking over to the fridge. “I’ll put it in the freezer.”

Mickey scoffs, rolling his eyes. As he’s been hanging out with the Gallaghers, he’s also been hanging out with Kev more, and he has to admit, Kev is so much more than the illiterate bartender Mickey always thought he was. He almost feels guilty for all those times he’s not cared to learn his name. 

Aileen feeds _again_ around 11:00, then needs a diaper change, and Mickey decides to just carry her around for the rest of the day. His arms felt strangely empty when he let her sleep in the bassinet. 

“A day old, and she’s already having her first Thanksgiving!” V says, gently bopping her on her nose. “She’s really cute, you guys gonna make more?”

“Fuck no,” Mickey replies, laying marshmallows out on top of the sweet potato casserole. “You think we can handle more than one kid? Besides, Ian ain’t out of high school yet.”

“I heard my name!” Ian calls from the living room, where the table has extended, setting out plates with Fiona. 

“Course you did,” Mickey calls back. "Nosy motherfucker."

V grins at him. “You three make an adorable family,” she says. 

Warmth bubbles up in Mickey’s chest and, for once, he doesn't feel the need to snap back. 

“You better not have started without me.” Frank comes in the door, holding- christ is that a drawer full of pills?

“Frank?” Fiona says, moving into the kitchen. 

“Daddy!” Debbie calls out. 

“You gonna come to dinner?” Carl asks, playing with the gun he shot the bald eagle with. 

“Of course I am, son,” Frank says, setting the drawer down on the counter. “And so’s your mother.” He stops and stares at Aileen, nestled into Mickey’s torso. “Oh, you pushed the little rugrat out already? What’s her name?” 

Mickey hesitates, and Ian wanders over. “Aileen,” he eventually says. It’s Thanksgiving, which means you’re supposed to be nice to family, and blah blah blah, and he supposes, Frank _is_ Aileen’s grandfather, as much as the idea repulses him. “Aileen Laura.”

“The fuck kinda name is that?” Frank slurs, leaning over to get a better look at her. “She looks like Ian,” he declares, then ambles into the living room, holding up a pill bottle. 

“Lithium?” Fiona asks, and Mickey can sense the tenseness coming off of her. 

“Moni?” Frank calls out. “I got your medication.”

Fiona and Ian follow Frank, curious, and Mickey hauls his ass out of his seat and follows them. Debbie and Carl trail behind, and they all see a hand poking out of space beneath the stairs. 

“Mom’s under the stairs?” Carl wonders aloud. 

“How long’s she been under there?” Fiona asks. 

Frank doesn’t reply, but hands Monica her pills and a beer bottle, cooing to her. He glances back at Fiona and nods. “That should do it.”

Mickey glances at Ian, who looks concerned, his eyebrows pitching together, his hands shoved in his pockets. Mickey gently bumps their shoulders together, making Ian glance down at him, trying to get his mind off his sick mother. 

Fiona drags Monica out from under the stairs, and she comes out slowly, protesting and crying. Carl and Debbie look scared as their mother stands up, her face streaked with mascara. Ian settles a hand on Carl’s shoulder.

“Debs, set a place for Monica,” Fiona orders as she and Frank hold Monica up. “We’re all having Thanksgiving together, with all the kids, at the table.”

Frank leads Monica over to sit down at a chair, still crying. 

“Can I hold her?” Ian asks Mickey, and he hands Aileen over. Ian holds her up and presses a kiss to her forehead, and she lets out a noise that sounds like a puppy whimper. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Frank declares, and everyone echoes him. Ian grins down at Mickey, Monica momentarily forgotten, and presses their lips together. 

***

Lip’s having a weird day. A weird past two days, really. 

First, Jimmy kicked him out of his fucking nice-ass apartment when his wife’s boyfriend showed up and tried to murder him. Then Ian texted him that Mickey was having their daughter. Next, he crashed at Mandy’s house, and banged her half-heartedly. He likes Mandy, she’s hot and eager, but his son is going to be coming on Friday, so he was a little distracted. Next, on Thanksgiving morning, Fiona calls him again (he doesn’t answer), then Mandy and her retarded brothers drag him along for a beer run, which turns out to be a store robbery. Then he gets a call from Sheila, telling him that Karen’s in labor. 

Which is why Lip now finds himself at the hospital, running through the halls, trying to find where the fuck the labor unit is. 

He spies his son’s adopted parents, with bright smiles on their faces, and he barely hears what he’s saying to them, his body high on adrenaline right now. His son’s coming! Maybe this day won’t be so shitty!

Lip finds it kind of crazy that he and Ian’s kids are born only a day apart. He can’t wait to visit Ian (or rather, to have Ian visit him because he doesn't want to face Fiona right now) and see his niece and talk about his son.

Right now, though, he hands the adoptive parents the tape he’s been making over the past couple of days for his son- giving him advice about life, telling him about himself. They’re having a closed adoption, but that doesn’t mean that Lip doesn’t want his son to never know who he is. He half expects them to reject his gift, but they smile at each other and his son’s new mother takes it. 

“Thank you, Lip,” she says. 

“Cool.” Lip feels a little light-headed. “I should- I should go in there,” he says, guesting behind him in the vague direction of Karen’s room. 

They wave him off, and he runs down the hallway, practically skipping. God, he’s going to be a father! 

***

The turkey smells fucking amazing by the time they all sit down to eat around two. Ian’s holding Aileen in his arms, and she’s awake right now, eyes blinking up at him, but he knows she’ll probably end up in her bassinet as the day wears on. 

Kev plunks the turkey down on the table, and this is Ian’s first real turkey in a while, and Mickey’s first real turkey ever. Mickey’s next to Ian, their chairs pressed in close to each other, his hand resting on Ian’s arm near Aileen. 

Everyone’s talking and laughing, but Monica’s completely silent. 

“You okay?” he asks her, and she nods. She obviously isn’t okay. He tilts Aileen towards her, hoping that a baby will cheer her up. 

“Look, this is your granddaughter, Aileen,” he says. “She’s 7 1/2 pounds.”

Monica doesn’t say anything, just glances down at her lap.

“We haven’t said grace yet!” V says, smacking Carl’s hand when he tries to grab for the turkey, and Ian is distracted. 

“I’ll say it!” Frank says from his seat at the head of the table. “I’ll say the grace. Hold hands,” he instructs, and everyone does, Mickey and Ian a little awkwardly, over Aileen. 

“Dear Lord,” Frank starts. “Thank you for this food that we’re about to eat. Thank you for bringing my Monica back to me. Thank you for Ian’s butt baby. And please make my brother Clayton burn in hell for all eternity when the time comes. Amen!”

Ian rolls his eyes, and the table is silent for a moment, before Veronica breaks it with an “Amen.”

They start to dig into the food, and Ian holds Aileen up so she can see all the commotion, and Mickey passes him the biscuits, and everything’s so fucking perfect. Ian loves being here, with his family, with Mickey, with his _daughter._

Carl throws the ketchup halfway across the table to Jimmy, and Liam spreads his carrots all over his food tray. Ian sets Aileen down in her bassinet, because it’s getting too cumbersome to hold her any more, and the noise is probably overwhelming her. He sets her in the kitchen, so she’ll be somewhat out of the noise, but he and Mickey will still be able to hear her. 

“When are you going to carve the turkey, I’m starving!” Fiona complains to Kev after Ian sits back down, throwing a grin at Mickey. 

“I’m carving!” Frank says, raising his hand. “I am the man of the house.” He gets up and makes his way to the other end of the table, taking the knife and fork from Kev. 

“I’m gonna go wash my hands,” Monica says to Ian, standing up as well. Ian doesn’t think anything of it, too distracted by Kev making a dick joke.

A knock sounds at the door, and Debbie springs up. “I invited Conrad! That okay?”

“Conrad?” Fiona echoes.

“My homeless guy from the pool!” Debbie calls over her shoulder, answering the door. He comes in, and Ian and everyone welcomes him warmly. 

“Much better than bald eagle,” Fiona declares, and V laughs loudly. 

“Hey, we’re still eating that,” Kev says. “We’re gonna roast it, bake it, fry it, I don’t care. But we’re really gonna eat it.”

“Ah, fuck no, man, I ain’t eating bald eagle when I’ve had a taste of turkey,” Mickey says, his mouth full of cornbread. 

“I bet it tastes like chicken,” Carl says. 

“You know, we could always have it for Christmas,” V points out. 

Frank cuts out a slab of white meat for Mickey, and the green bean casserole is really fucking _good_ , when a thump comes from the kitchen. 

“What was that?” Fiona asks. She takes her napkin off her lap and gets up. Ian is sure it’s nothing, their house makes a lot of weird noises, and he steals a cranberry off of Mickey’s plate. 

“Hey, get your own,” Mickey says, slapping his hand. 

Ian just grins at him. “But your berries are sweeter,” he says, leaning in close to him. Mickey shoves at his face, grinning back. 

Kev and Jimmy stand up, as well, and Ian glances over at them, frowning. 

“Holy fuck,” he hears Kev say from the kitchen, and suddenly everyone is up and moving. 

It’s Monica.

Monica is collapsed on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her body, her wrist tilted up towards the ceiling. It’s Jimmy who moves, crouching down by her and grabbing her wrists, covering them up, but that doesn’t stop blood from arching up into the air. 

There’s so much blood. 

Blood on the cabinets, blood on her clothes, now blood on Jimmy.

Mickey gasps next to him, and suddenly his hand is in Ian’s.

“C’mon, guys, upstairs,” V says, directing Carl and Debbie away from her. Fiona calls 9-1-1, and Ian reaches out a hand, grabbing onto Aileen’s bassinet, his breath coming out in short gasps. His head feels heavy and he feels like he’s dreaming. Jimmy calls for more towels to wrap Monica’s wrists in, and Ian grabs one on the counter and tosses it to him. 

Frank walks out, and Fiona’s screaming at him, and Ian wants to cry, but he can’t. Fiona wraps her arms around him, hugging him close, and he refuses to let go of Mickey’s hand, clamping down onto him, hoping he’ll ground him. 

They follow her to the hospital, and Ian thinks dryly, what a fucking way to spend Thanksgiving. 

They take Aileen with them, because they can’t leave her at home by herself, but Ian needs Mickey with him. And maybe he needs Aileen, too. He grabs what he can- diapers, an extra blanket and a change of baby clothes- and shoves them in his backpack before they make their way out the door. 

Ian presses in close to Mickey in the hospital waiting room, holding onto Aileen’s arm like she’s going to leave, too. Jimmy snaps at Kev for saying “Holy fuck” over and over again, and Lip isn’t responding, and then a nurse comes in, asking for Fiona. Everyone moves over to the nurse, who reports that Monica is stable. 

“Oh, thank God,” Ian breathes out. 

“We’re going to hold her for 72 hours, make sure she doesn't try to harm herself again,” the nurse continues. “Is she bipolar?” Fiona nods. “Okay, we’ll get her back on her meds and leveled out.”

“Can we see her?” Ian asks, because she’s still his mother, no matter how absent she might be, and she needs to meet her granddaughter, for fuck’s sake. 

“No, not right now, she’s heavily sedated,” the nurse replies. “You should go home. Excuse me,” she adds, leaving. 

“Christ,” Ian whispers, turning to Mickey. Aileen is still sleeping soundly in his arms, and he leads Ian back over to sit down. Ian’s grateful, he isn’t sure his legs can function enough to walk. 

“Lip just called,” Jimmy announces then. “Karen’s having her baby upstairs.”

“Holy fuck!” Kev says. 

They must look pretty stupid, Ian thinks, as they run through the halls of the hospital, Fiona shouting at random people where maternity is. He’s pushing Mickey in a wheelchair he snagged in some hallway, alternating between running and riding on the back. 

“I’m going to be an aunt again!” Debbie says. 

“I’m going to have a nephew I can beat up!” Carl throws in. 

***

Karen’s pushing. Lip can barely contain his excitement. Any time now, his son could arrive. 

“Why can’t I just get a c-section?” Karen demands, and Lip loves the fact that she’s so strong. 

“You’re too far along, sweetie,” the doctor says from where she’s in between Karen’s spread legs. 

“Sometimes mother nature has other plans, honey,” Sheila says, stroking her forehead. 

“Fuck mother nautre,” Karen says. “She doesn't have to worry about her vagina getting stretched.”

“You were already pretty stretched out down there, Karen,” Jody says, trying to be reassuring. As much as Lip hates the guy, he has to laugh at that, because nothing’s wrong anymore, because his son is going to be born!  
Karen yells for drugs, and Sheila tells her to push, and then Lip can see his son’s head. Dark hair from being damp inside the womb, and Lip gasps. Sheila’s right, the miracle of birth _is_ beautiful. Then the door clicks open and his entire family pours in- Fiona and Carl and Debbie and Kev and V and Liam and _Ian_. 

Lip hugs Ian, who’s grinning at him, then he notices Mickey, who’s holding a tiny green bundle. 

“Christ, man, that’s your daughter!” Lip exclaims. He guesses he doesn't have to wait to meet his niece. 

Mickey grins and leans in close to him, showing him Aileen, and who would’ve thought that Mickey Milkovich could smile at anyone?

Aileen is tiny, her eyes shut tightly, but Lip has to admit, she’s pretty fucking cute, and soon both he and Ian will be fathers, together. Okay, maybe their situations are a little bit different, but _still._

“Hey, she looks like you!” he says to Ian. 

“Lip!’ Debbie says, hugging his side once Mickey moves away. 

“Debs!” Lip exclaims. “Look, look, my baby’s about to come out!” He points down between Karen’s legs, and the whole family gathers around for a look. 

“Ew,” Debbie says, but Lip thinks it’s amazing, because _that’s his kid right there!_

“Vagina,” Carl says as if in a trance. 

Karen lets out a bunch of “Fucks!” and Ian says, “Hey, that’s what Mickey sounded like!” and Mickey smacks him gently on the shoulder, then the doctor tells them that Lip’s son is _coming, he’s coming!_

Karen gives one more push, and Lip’s son slides out into the world. Everyone cheers, and he jumps up and down with Ian, his heart feeling like it’s going to beat out his chest. He hears his son cry, and it’s the most beautiful thing to his ears, and a nurse moves past him, carrying the baby. 

Lip turns to Karen, gently touching her hair. She’s _amazing,_ he thinks, although she looks exhausted and grumpy. 

“Um, doctor,” he hears the nurse say, and the doctor moves away from Karen to focus on the baby. 

Lip peers over her shoulder, staring down at his son. 

His son… 

“Oh no,” V says. 

“That thing looks weird,” Carl says. “Aileen didn’t look like that.”

His son… 

“What’s wrong with him?” Debbie asks. 

“He has down syndrome, Debs,” Fiona replies. 

“Yeah, and he’s Asian,” Lip replies. His son is not his son. 

“Maybe, we’re just looking at him upside-down,” Kev says helpfully. 

Lip’s heart sinks from his chest, down to his toes, then through the floor, into the basement of this god-forsaken hospital. It’s not his son. He watches as the doctor takes the baby that has suddenly become so foreign to him and brings him over to Karen. 

“Here you go, honey,” she says. “You can hold him now.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to touch him,” Karen replies. 

“You should hold him and say good-bye.”

“Just take him away,” Karen says, waving the doctor off. 

Lip’s son is not his son. He can’t be. 

“What the fuck, Karen, I thought you said it was mine,” he bursts out. 

“I screwed Timmy Wong as much as I screwed you,” Karen laughs. “I never said it was your baby, you just wanted it to be.”

The baby that’s not his starts to cry again, and this time, he’s joined by a different crying. It’s Ian and Mickey’s baby, who’s most undoubtedly theirs. Unlike Karen’s baby, who is most undoubtedly _not_ Lip’s. 

Ian moves away, to Mickey, and Lip stares down at the baby who’s crying his lungs out in the doctor’s arms. 

“Go tell Jeff and Alana to come get their fucking baby,” Karen says. 

Lip can’t believe this. For nearly 5 months, he’s hoped, he’s dreamed, he’s planned for his son, and now it’s not his son? He doesn't understand, he doesn’t want to understand, but everything is laid out on the table for him, what can he do? So he leaves. 

***

Mickey and Ian take Aileen out of the delivery room. She’s hungry, so they make their way to a chair in the hallway. Ian holds her while Mickey wrestles out of his shirt and drapes the blanket over himself. Aileen latches on after a few, and Mickey turns to Ian. 

He’s had a hard fucking day, between his mother trying to kill herself, to finding out his brother’s baby is actually not his brother’s.

“Ian,” he says when he sees that Ian’s not looking at him. He glances up, his eyes red and Mickey’s struck with the fact that Ian’s only 16 years old, he shouldn’t have to be dealing with all this shit. 

“I should- I should be better for you,” Ian says, wiping his eyes. “You don’t need me to be like this, not when we have Aileen.” He gestures at her. 

“What the fuck should you be like then, huh? After you’ve seen Monica’s blood and Lip’s Asian baby?”

Ian manages a weak smile. “Fuck, I’m sorry my family is a shitshow,” he says. 

“Better than mine,” Mickey replies, and Ian wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

Lip leaves once again without contact, and they make their way back home. Mickey’s drop dead tired, and his arms are sore from holding Aileen the whole time on the L. Ian carries Carl bridal-style upstairs, who fell asleep on the train ride. 

Mickey changes Aileen into a clean diaper and swaddles her up for the night. He sets her down into her crib, too tired to get her bassinet from the kitchen, and not wanting to see the blood. 

“Crazy day, huh, sweetheart?” he says quietly. “Welcome to the world. It’s a shit show.”

Ian comes in after he’s put Carl to bed, his eyes still red and swollen, and collapses on their bed. “Mickey,” he whispers out, and Mickey doesn’t hesitate to join him. He holds Ian as his body shakes and falls asleep with Ian’s tears staining his shirt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Ian cries a lot in this story. The poor boy just has too much shit going on his life, someone give him a break. 
> 
> One more chapter left!!


	16. Fiona Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s her last name?” he asks, realizing that that would be something they probably would’ve had to figure out.  
> “Gallagher,” Ian responds.  
> Lip glances up at him. “Mickey let you?”  
> “She ain’t gonna be a fucking Milkovich,” Mickey responds. “Too many of us around, anyways.”  
> 2.12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Eeeeeee!!
> 
> Also, Ian's wikia page says he was born in Metz, which is either France or West Virginia and I honestly have to idea why he would be West Virginia…? Unless I missed something in the show. Anyway, I just made him be born in Chicago. Also, you've probably noticed that I've made Ian and Mickey only a year apart, rather than 2 years. That's because I also made Lip a year older than Ian (canonically, he's 2 years, but that makes no sense because if Ian is 15 in season 1, he would be 17, but his birthday's in March, so he would be a senior, but he's still a senior in season 3…??? anyhoo) and Lip and Mickey are the same age, so that means that Mickey is only a year older.

Burping, Ian learns, is no fucking picnic. Aileen is so _tiny_ and he’s scared he’s going to break her, but all the parenting websites say to grab her by her fucking _neck_ and pat her back firmly until she burps. He’s scared he’s going to snap her tiny neck, and the added fact that is 3 in the goddamn morning and Mickey has been in the bathroom since she’s stopped nursing, which means that he’s alone, isn’t helping. But he doesn’t want her to barf all over his sheets, so he tries his damn hardest to burp her and not kill her at the same time. 

He’s been patting her back for nearly the past minute, and is about to give up and fall asleep, when she finally lets out a tiny burp.

“Oh, thank god,” he breaths out, and leans back on his pillows, cradling her to his chest. He knows she’ll start crying in 30 minutes, demanding a diaper change, so he’s going to enjoy this moment right now. 

She’s warm and heavy against his skin and Ian is dead tired, so he feels his eyes start to slide shut as he plays with her hand resting against his collarbone. He and Mickey have decided on a strict no co-sleeping policy before she was born, as they both know they’re probably not going to be able to sleep for a year, and the addition of a newborn in their bed isn’t going to help that, but Ian is so goddamn tired right now, so he’ll just rest his eyes for a few seconds. 

He wakes up to the bedroom door shutting, and sees that Mickey is back from his vacation to the toilet. 

“Comfy?” he asks, smirking.

Ian rubs the sleep out his eyes with one hand, holding Aileen steady with the other. “Actually, yeah,” he mumbles. “How’re the pipes?” Mickey had scampered off to the bathroom as soon as Aileen had stopped nursing, almost shitting in his pants, another lovely side effect of birth. 

“Loose,” Mickey responds, climbing into bed next to Ian, and placing a hand on Aileen’s back. 

Ian makes a face. “I did _not_ need to know that.”

“You asked, dumbass. How was burping?”

Ian shrugs. “Terrifying. But then again, what isn’t?”

Mickey hums, and then Aileen starts to shift around, beginning to whimper. Mickey sighs. “Diaper,” he says. “You wanna get that?”

“I just burped her!” Ian complains. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I just spent the last 15 minutes expelling my guts,” Mickey replies. “I do not need to look at more shit right now.”

Grumbling, Ian changes Aileen’s diaper, holding his breath through it. She settles down after he’s changed her and swaddled her again. Thankfully, they’ve managed to avoid yet another crying session. He sets her down in her crib, then slides up next to Mickey again. 

“Thanks, _Papa_ ,” Mickey says, resting a head on his chest. 

“I’m Papa?”

“Well Daddy is already taken,” Mickey replies.

“Hmm, _Daddy_.”

Mickey hits him. “Say it again like that and I swear to god, I’ll punch you’re fucking teeth out.”

Aileen cries at 5, and then at 8, and Ian and Mickey decide it’s useless to try sleeping anymore. They make their way downstairs to find that the kitchen is cleaned up after last night, and that Fiona’s cutting up the turkey into smaller chunks for breakfast. 

“Hey,” she says gently as she notices their presence. “How ya doing?”

“Um, okay,” Ian responds as Mickey makes a beeline for the coffee pot, Aileen tucked in one arm. Ian ruffles Liam’s hair, who’s sitting in his high chair, and sits down at the kitchen counter. 

“Debbie and Carl are upset,” Fiona says quietly. “Slept in my room last night.”

Ian nods. He’s lucky he has Aileen to take care of- it gets his mind off the events from last night. And speaking of, Mickey presses Aileen into his arms and announces that he needs to shit, _again,_ before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Ian adjusts Aileen and gently traces his finger down her cheek. They’ve dressed her in a simple gray onesie, with a pale pink hat and Ian doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more cute. 

“You two are doing a really good job,” Fiona says then. “I’m proud of you.” 

Ian glances up at her and gives her a smile. “I’m tired as shit, though.” 

She scoffs and grabs the cereal box for him from the cabinet. “Yeah, welcome to the lovely world of parenthood.” Ian pours himself a bowl.

The stairs creak as Steve makes his way downstairs. “Mornin’.” Ian didn’t know he slept over last night. 

“The kids still sleeping?” Fiona asks. 

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, moving behind her. Ian watches them. Steve grabs a piece of turkey. “Mmm, turkey and eggs.”

“With mashed potato pancakes and cranberry jelly.”

“Hmm,” Steve comments, and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Back to being a legal resident around here, Steve?” Ian asks. 

“Jimmy,” Fiona corrects. “His name’s Jimmy now. Steve was just an alias he used to lie to me about who he really was.”

“Ooh, not cool, Jimmy/Steve,” Ian says.

Mickey lumbers out of the bathroom then, looking dead as shit. 

“Eggs, Mickey?” Fiona asks him. 

“Fuck yes,” he replies, sitting next to Ian and tickling Aileen. Fiona dishes some out on a plate for him. 

“I changed my name ‘cause I was stealing cars. I didn’t want anybody to be able to track me down when things went south. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Mickey poured ketchup on his eggs. “Yeah,” he scoffs out. 

“I wanna meet your family,” Fiona says, starting to make a plate for Jimmy.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Jimmy says seriously. 

“Can’t be any worse than mine,” Mickey adds in, taking a bite of his breakfast. 

“Oh, speaking of,” Ian says to Mickey, “We should probably bring Aileen to meet Mandy today. She’ll probably bug us until we do. We can do it after we get a birth certificate for Aileen.”

Jimmy tries to convince Fiona that his family’s shit as Mickey sighs. “Who’da thought that we’d be here, discussing legal shit?”

Ian thinks about it. “Uh, me. Like, 3 months ago.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “You’re a fucking dumbass, Gallagher.”

Ian chuckles. “When you do wanna go?”

“Jesus, let me finish my eggs first,” Mickey says, shoveling another forkful into his mouth. “And Aileen probably needs her diaper changed first,” he continues when their daughter starts to cry. 

They take the L to the city hall, and it only takes a surprisingly short amount of time. They dress Aileen up in a winter jacket, two pairs of socks, and gloves, wanting her to be as warm as possible. They use the front carrier for the first time, managing to strap her to Ian’s chest after a while. Thankfully, she stays quiet the whole train ride, completely passed out. Mickey had wanted to take his glock, but Ian had shot him down, as they’re going to a city hall and there would probably be security guards everywhere. 

“It’d be under my jacket- no one would see it!” he had protested, but had finally let up, grumbling. 

The line to the _Family Relations_ desk takes literally 20 minutes. Ian’s pretty sure his legs are numb by the time they make it to the front and are met with the world’s grumpiest looking lady. 

“What do you need?” she says in the most monotone voice. 

“Uh, birth certificate,” Ian speaks up. 

The lady grabs a piece of paper from behind her desk. “I need one of your IDs,” she says then, and Mickey digs his out, which he had gotten about 4 months ago, after their lovely trip to the hospital after Terry had caught them together. 

The woman barely glances at Mickey’s ID before handing it back to him and taking the $18 Ian hands over, then shoves the birth certificate at them. 

“Fill it out, then bring it back up here and I’ll sign it and give you a copy. Next!”

Ian and Mickey find a seat by the side of the desk, and Mickey takes Aileen from Ian so that he can write, not wanting to mess up with his messy handwriting. 

“Ok, first name of child,” Ian reads out. “ _Aileen._ Middle. _Laura._ Last name. Um… Milkovich?”

Mickey scoffs at that. “Fuck no,” he says. “Write down your name. She ain’t a fucking Milkovich.”

Ian glances at him. He and Mickey aren’t married, and he knows it’s common to use the late name of the… mother… if the two parents don’t have the same last name, so he had assumed that’s what Mickey would want to do. “Are you sure?”

“Course I’m fucking sure. She doesn’t need to be growing up as a Milkovich in that neighborhood. Being a Gallagher is so much fucking better.”

It does funny things to his chest, the fact that Mickey wants their daughter to have Ian’s last name, and he writes down _Gallagher,_ unable to keep the smile off his face. 

“Sex… female. This birth… single. Date of birth… 11/21/2012. Hour… Jesus, they want military time, um… 20:14.” He squints down at the next line. “Street address of birth… 2119 North Wallace Street, Chicago, Illinois, home.”

“Christ, why the fuck is this so detailed?” Mickey says, rocking Aileen a little bit. 

“Father of child,” Ian reads out. “Hey, that’s me.” He bends over the piece of paper and starts to scratch out, _Ian Clayton Gallagher,_ (place of birth) _Chicago_ , (date of birth) _5/9/1996._

“Mother of child,” he reads. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mickey grumbles out. 

“Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich,” Ian continues. “Born in Chicago, 8/10/1995. Now they need our signatures.” Ian signed the bottom, then traded the certificate for Aileen. He slid the carrier back on his arm, tightening the straps as Mickey finished his scrawl. 

“Great. Now we get to wait in line for another half hour.”

***

Lip visits Karen the morning after. He strokes her cheek and she wakes up softly, then after she’s showered and eaten, he takes her back to her house. Turns out Sheila took the baby from the hospital, and Karen demands that she return it, not even wanting to touch her own baby. 

Lip feels… he feels empty. He spent nearly 5 months being excited for his son to come into the world, only to find out it’s not actually his son. He just feels blank, like all the emotion is sucked out of him. He’s not even mad at Karen, not anymore. He knows she didn’t know any better. 

Karen and Sheila are yelling at each other, Sheila sticking up for the baby, saying that she wants to take care of him, but Karen just doesn't want to see her kid again. 

Lip speaks up for the first time. “You know Karen, your mom might be right. Maybe she should keep him for a while, you know, who knows what social services is going to do to him.” Even though it’s not his kid, he feels sort of connected to him in a certain way, and the video he made for him then threw away in a dumpster outside of the hospital is burning in the back of his mind. 

Karen rounds on him. “Butt out, Lip! What are you even doing here? He’s not even yours, this is none of your goddamn business.”

And then maybe Lip feels something then. “At least call Tim Wong or whoever the father is and tell _him_ about it.”

“Get out!” Karen explodes.

Lip stares at her. He’s done with her. Fuck, Ian was right. He should have just left her alone a long time ago, before she dragged him down with all her shit. He’s put up with her ever since she got pregnant, when probably no other guy would, and she thanks him by screaming at him when the kid turns out not to be his, something which he couldn’t control. 

He sniffs and turns to Jody, and he’s not even mad at him anymore. “You dodged a fucking RPG, getting tossed over by this one,” he says. 

“Don’t I know it, man,” Jody says softly to him as he sees his way out. 

He makes his way over to Mandy’s house, because at least he’ll know she’ll still accept him. He knocks on the Milkovich door, and is surprised when Ian answers it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.

Ian grins at him. “We brought Aileen over to meet Mandy. Come on in,” he says, stepping back to let Lip enter. 

Mandy’s holding Ian and Mickey’s baby, cooing at her, but she glances up when Lip comes in. Lip’s breath is taken away. _God,_ she’s beautiful, and even though Lip didn’t call her once since yesterday with the whole him-ditching-on-her-and-her-brothers-while- they-rob-a-store thing, she still smiles at him. 

“Hey!” she says. “Wanna see the baby?”

Mickey’s sitting next to her, eating some toast, as Lip makes his way over and sits down on the other side of Mandy. She tilts the baby over to him, and he peers at her. He can’t help the smile that’s spreading across his face. She’s like a carbon copy of Ian. 

“Wanna hold her?”

He nods, and then his niece is placed into his arms. She’s not sleeping, but her eyes are shut, and she waves her hands around. Lip presses his index finger to her knuckles, and she curls her tiny fingers around his. He could’ve had this, but then it was ripped away from him by Karen fucking Jackson. But this is Ian and Mickey’s kid, not his, and he should be happy for them. 

“What’s her last name?” he asks, realizing that that would be something they probably would’ve had to figure out.

“Gallagher,” Ian responds.

Lip glances up at him. “Mickey let you?”

“She ain’t gonna be a fucking Milkovich,” Mickey responds. “Too many of us around, anyways.”

Lip knows it’s deeper than that, he knows that Mickey hates his own family, his father more specifically, and doesn’t want his kid to be related to him anymore than she has to be. As much as Lip hates to admit it, Mickey’s changed. He’s changed since the day Ian brought him home for the first time after Lip and Fiona found out he’d been knocked up. He’s smiling now, and Ian’s arm is around his shoulders, and maybe Lip wishes that Karen could change too, and that they could be a family like Ian and Mickey are a family, but then he reminds himself that his son isn’t his son anymore. “Welcome to the family, baby Gallgher,” he says to her. 

Aileen cries shortly after, and Ian and Mickey leave to go into the next room to nurse her. Apparently, Mickey is _breastfeeding,_ another fact that just surprises Lip more, and then he and Mandy are alone. 

“You gonna be staying here?” Mandy asks. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “Karen kicked me out.”

“She’s a cunt.”

“Yeah, she is,” he agrees. 

They turn on the TV and watch in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. Nearly 30 minutes later, Ian and Mickey reappear and announce that they’re heading home in case Aileen needs a diaper change. Mandy and Lip say goodbye to their niece, and then they’re alone. 

Lip fucks her slowly for the first time, their lips slotting together, and their bodies sliding against one another. He misses her, and he’s sorry for the time he had been distracted by Karen. He likes this, likes _her,_ likes the simplicity of Mandy Milkovich. 

They make food after, and when a knock comes at the door, Mandy goes and answers it, then calls his name. 

It’s Fiona. 

Of course it’s fucking Fiona. 

She could never keep away, could she? Always checking in on him to make sure he’s okay, he doesn’t need his tears to be wiped, not like he’s fucking grown up. 

“So,” Fiona says. Lip folds his arms. 

“How’d you find me?” Lip asks. He prays Ian didn’t rat out on him. 

“Jimmy,” she replies, shrugging. An awkward silence stretches between them, before Fiona asks, “How’s Karen?”

“Girl’s a fucking bitch,” Mandy replies from the kitchen, and Lip is grateful that she did, so he wouldn’t have to speak. “My cousin Eli was born with a foot coming out of his knee. Now he’s a blacksmith. Only one who can pump the bellows without using his hands.”

“I passed my GED,” Fiona says, ignoring her. “Don’t look so surprised,” she adds when Lip doesn’t respond. 

“No, I’m not. That’s, uh, that’s great.”

“...So,” Fiona says after another awkward moment. “Deal’s a deal.” Christ, is she really on about him going back to fucking school? He’s pretty sure if you get fucking expelled, you can’t go back. 

“Nah, too late. Spilt milk.” 

“I passed, you go back to school.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Knock off the clichés,” Fiona says. 

“Road not taken,” he adds. 

Fiona hesitates. “I want ya home, Lip,” she says eventually. “We all do. Ian’s got a new baby.”

“Yeah, saw her already.”

Another tense silence stretches between them, and Fiona finally gets the message. “Alright,” she says softly, turning to leave. 

Mandy slams the door on her on the way out. 

***

Mickey wakes up Saturday morning with the most uncomfortable pain he thinks he’s ever been in. Forget his fucking hips during labor, he wants to rip his chest off. 

“Ow, what the fuck,” he groans out, rolling over in bed. The movement causes the fabric of his shirt to brush against his nipples, and he hisses with pain. That wakes Ian up, and he’s all over him within seconds. 

“Are you alright?”

“Christ, no,” Mickey moans out. “I feel like my chest is going to explode.”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up. Mickey glances down at himself with the weak morning light to see that he’s… bigger than last night, his nipples poking up through his shirt. 

“Get this off me, it hurts so fucking bad,” he snaps.

He and Ian get his shirt off slowly, and sure enough, his chest is swollen and his nipples are a puffy, angry red. 

“Looks like your milk came in,” Ian says. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’ll get you a hot towel- it’s supposed to help.” Ian disappears, and Mickey writhes in bed. This hurts to fucking _bad,_ why did he agree to nurse Aileen again? Oh right, ‘cause they’re dirt poor. 

Ian lays the hot towel over his chest, and he flinches at the feeling. It takes only about 5 minutes for Aileen to start whimpering, then crying, and Ian retrieves her from her crib. 

“I think she’s hungry,” he says, climbing on the bed with her. “If she nurses, it’ll help the pain not be so bad.”

No, it fucking does not. Mickey’s nipples are sore and tender, and literal tears leak down his eyes when she latches.

“Ow! Fucking hell!” he explodes, and wrenches her off him. She starts _wailing,_ squirming in his hold. 

“Mickey!” Ian shouts, reaching out to grab her from him. He hunches over himself, his chest feeling like it’s on fire.

“Christ, I can’t do it,” he pants while Ian bounces Aileen gently. 

“You’re going to have to try, Mick, she needs to eat.”

Mickey’s heart wretches so much at the fact that he _fucking made his daughter cry,_ that he accepts her back to his chest and deals with the excruciating pain that’s rippling throug him now. 

He hates the fact that Ian ends up being right. He doesn’t feel as… full (and he hates the fact that he felt that way in the first place), and though his nipples still feel like they’re on fire, the pain has gone down some. Aileen falls back asleep after, and Ian grabs him an Ibuprofen, and they settle back down again. 

Ian drapes an arm over his waist, and it might be the fact that he’s wide awake from the pain, that makes him more conscious of the fact, and he scoots away. 

“Where’re you going?” Ian asks, lifting his head up. 

“Don’t do that,” Mickey says quietly. 

“What, sleep?”

“No,” he says through clenched teeth, then grabs Ian’s wrist and throws it off his waist. His stomach has gone down some, now 3 days after giving birth, but it’s still swollen, although now it’s more with the weight he’s gained through the extra eating and lounging around. He’s not stupid, he knows it’s going to take a few months before he’s weight is back to normal, but he hates the way he looks now, and he especially hates the stretch marks the litter the lower half of his abdomen. 

Even though he says none of that outloud, Ian still somehow gets it, and replaces his arm right where it was before. 

“You know I don’t give two shits about what you look like, right Mick?” Ian says. “I love you.”

That’s the third time Ian’s ever said that to him. Mickey feels his stomach swoop, and for a second he beats himself over the fact that this carrot-headed fucker has managed to reduce him to fucking _goo_ with just 3 words. 

“I know,” he whispers out, half hoping Ian won’t hear. “I love you too.”

Ian just grins and snuggles up against Mickey, and Mickey swallows hard, trying to ignore the burning he feels behind his eyes. It’s just the postpartum hormones, nothing more.

They give Aileen her first bath that day. It’s a sponge bath, but whatever. Mickey makes sure that the water is warm, but not too warm, before he and Ian use the softest sponge they could find to gently wipe her down. They use baby soap, and make sure to pay extra attention to her belly button, where the last stump of her umbilical cord fell off the day before, but they need to keep clean in case bacteria gets in. 

Aileen squirms and makes distressed noises the whole time, and Mickey tries to go as fast as he can so he can wrap her up again. Ian dances around the room with her afterwards, supporting her neck, but bouncing her in the air, cooing baby noises at her. 

“You’re a weirdo, man,” Mickey says. 

Ian turns to him grinning, and holds Aileen up near his cheek. “But you love it,” he says, and Mickey shakes his head because, yeah, he does. 

They take Aileen to the free clinic later that day, because she needs some shots if she wants to survive to one month. She gets Hepatitis B, and a shot of Vitamin K, and she wails and screams through both of them. It makes Mickey’s heart clench and he doesn’t take his hands off her one second. The lady also weighs her and measures her again, reporting a normal weight gain from when she was born, then finally hands her back safely in Mickey’s arms. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Mickey says gently, rocking Aileen, while the lady says something to Ian, and then they’re out, back into the bitter Chicago cold. 

“That was fucking terrible,” he says, and Ian wraps an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

***

On Sunday, they get a call that Monica's missing from the psych ward. Ian's not even surprised. He's used to it- Monica showing up in their lives one day, and then disappearing the next, but what really hurts him is the fact that Carl isn't even too messed up about it. It's depressing, but it's all he knows of his mother. But Ian's got more things to worry about. He dreads going back to school the next day. His lift has been a fairytale up until that point, sleeping in and spending all hours of the day with Mickey and Aileen. But now he has to go back to reality, where high school is a fucking cage match and people will probably pick on him. He knows rumors have spread around, and he has reason to believe that it’s because of Karen fucking Jackson, and he got weird looks before Aileen was born, now he can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like when he goes back. 

But suddenly he has a whole nother thing to worry about. Jimmy invites the whole Gallagher clan to dinner with his family, and although Debbie declines, Carl and Ian and Liam are going. Mickey decides to stay home and take care of Aileen, all by himself. 

“Are you sure?” Ian asks, rubbing Aileen’s chest as Mickey holds her.

“What, you think I can’t look after her by myself?” Mickey shoots back.

“No, I just- what if something were to happen to you or to her?”

“Jesus, we’ll be fine.” Mickey shoves at his shoulder. “Go have fun with Jimmy’s fucking family. And bring me back some pasta.”

Ian gives Aileen a kiss, then Mickey, then salutes him. “You got it.”

Mickey laughs. “Fucking freak.”

The restaurant is over-the-top fancy, and Jimmy’s family is wearing suits and jewelry that looks like it costs more than Ian’s yearly paycheck. Ian’s wearing a fucking band shirt and a flannel, but Fiona’s dressed up in a pink and black dress and is actually wearing makeup. 

“So Jim, what’ve you been up to?” Jimmy’s brother, Chip, Ian thinks, asks. “Still finding creative ways to underachieve?”

“I was traveling around South America ‘till recently. Are you still handling the handerectomies for Dad? Chip just joined Dad’s practice after his surgical residency, following in the great man’s footsteps,” Jimmy adds to Fiona. 

“So you get to cut into people?” Carl asks, holding up one of the fancy, real silver steak knives. “Awesome.”

“He take you skiing yet?” Chip asks Fiona. 

“Uh, no,” Fiona responds. “My only talent involving snow is knowing how to shovel the walk without disturbing my father sleeping on it.”

Ian smirks to himself. Fiona’s really putting herself out there to make a good impression on Jimmy’s family. 

“Yeah, and Carl’s pretty good at peeing in it, as well,” Ian adds, and Fiona chuckles at Carl like a proud mother. Ian’s loving the contrast between their families. 

“What was the name of that girl that he took to Saint Lawrence on New Year’s? Chrissie? Lizzie? Something I remember with an -ie?” Chip asks, and Ian thinks that Jimmy was right- his brother _is_ a dick. 

“I was 17,” Jimmy interrupts. 

“You took a girlfriend to Europe in high school?” Fiona asks, more curious than condescending. 

“Dad offered to take me,” Jimmy responds. 

Chip goes off on a detailed story, basically about how bad a boyfriend Jimmy is. Ian’s staring at Jimmy, who does not look comfortable at all. He wonders how Mickey’s doing, alone with Aileen. 

Jimmy’s mom and brother start bickering with each other, until Fiona breaks the awkwardness. “With a name like Chip, you think you’d want to defy the stereotype.”

Ian leans his arm on the back of his chair. He’s never like rich people, but he has to admit, the drama is entertaining. 

“Fiona don’t, it’s fine,” Jimmy says quietly. 

“No, it’s not.”

Carl shoves a whole bun in his mouth, and then Jimmy’s father comes over, announcing he's sorry he's late, clapping his hands together and Ian freezes.

He knows Jimmy’s father. _Ned,_ the old guy he met at the bar who still tried to get on Ian, even after he told him he had a boyfriend. 

“So, you must be the mysterious Fiona,” he says, not noticing Ian yet. 

“Yes, and these are Fiona’s brothers,” Jimmy’s mom cuts in. “Carl, and Ian.”

 _Then_ he sees Ian. They hold awkward eye contact for a while, before Ned finally says. “Well, nice to meet you Ian.”

“‘Scuse me,” Ian says, because _holy fuck_ , he needs to get away. “Bathroom.”

The bathroom is so ridiculously fancy. He contemplates calling Mickey, but he probably wouldn’t pick up the house phone anyway. He’s leaning over the sink when the door opens and Ned walks in. Christ, he followed him.

“Hey,” Ned says, moving up close to him. 

“Do they know your gay?” Ian asks, straightening up and staring him straight in the eyes. 

Ned laughs. “I’m not gay,” he says. God, he sounds like Mickey. 

“Really. Then why were you in a gay bar, trying to pick me up?”

“Honestly? Anything that walks, that’s me.”

Ian stares at him more. 

“You wanna take me up on that offer I asked earlier? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Red. Or should I say, _Ian_?”

Ian guesses that that was supposed to be flirty, but he hates the way his name sounds coming out of his old guy’s mouth. 

“I was serious when I said I have a boyfriend.”

Ned’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Then where is he tonight?”

“Home, with our kid,” Ian says simply, moving to push past Ned, but he catches his wrist. 

“Kid?” he echoes. 

“Yup,” Ian replies, popping the “p.” “Forgot to use condoms. Now, excuse me, I’m going to go back to eat my dinner.”

Ned lets him go then. 

Ian orders some expensive beef for himself, then pasta for Mickey, like he requested. He can feel Ned’s eyes on him the whole time, and he hates it. 

Mickey’s in the living room when they get back, and Ian immediately moves over to him. He’s got Aileen laying on his chest, her thumb in her mouth. Ian plops down next to them and hands Mickey the box of pasta. 

“Fuck yes!” he says, and hands Aileen off to Ian while he takes the pasta into the kitchen to scarf it down. Ian gently strokes her back, watching as her eyelids flutter as she dreams, and he finds himself relaxing. After that shitshow of dinner, maybe school won’t be so bad tomorrow. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, sitting down next to Mickey. Carl’s gone to bed, and Fiona and Jimmy have disappeared upstairs to fuck, so it’s just the two of them. 

“Hey,” he says to Mickey. “Guess who was there tonight.”

Mickey shrugs, shoving another bite of pasta in his mouth. “Beyoncé?”

“That guy from the club I went to with Monica, remember the one who tried to hit on me?”

Mickey turns to him, his eyebrows trying to escape his face. “You’re fucking kidding.”

“Nope. And get this, he’s Jimmy’s dad.”

Mickey laughs. “What did the fucker do?”

“Followed me to the bathroom. Tried to hit me up.”

Mickey’s hand clenches around his fork. “And what the fuck did you do?” he demands. 

“I told him I had a boyfriend again,” Ian says. “Then left.”

Mickey studies him for a minute, then nods. “Thank fuck you did. Don’t go knocking up another guy, Gallagher.”

Ian scoffs and steals one of Mickey’s noodles. 

Ian is dead tired Monday morning. Aileen was up 4 times last night, and even though he drained 2 ½ cups of coffee, he still falls asleep in algebra 2, then history. But his history teacher, Mr. Ericks, is a bitch, so he gets sent to the principal’s office. 

“Gallagher,” Principal Monroe says when he takes a seat behind his desk. “Not the first one I’ve had in here, and not the last one. What did you do this time?”

“Fell asleep in history,” Ian mumbles. 

“And why did you fall asleep in history? Was it too boring for you? You think you’re too cool to learn about the French revolution?”

“No,” Ian manages out. “Because I’m tired.”

“Mmm-hmm. And why are you tired? Stayed up too long partying, no doubt.”

“No,” he says again. “There’s a newborn in your house, and she was up all night crying.”

“Oh, Lord,” Principal Monroe says. He drags his hands down his face. “Your mother had _another_ kid?”

“Um, no,” Ian says. He stares down at his hands. God, this is embarrassing. All day long, people had been staring at him, whispering. The only time they weren’t was when Mandy snapped at them in the halls. “I did.”

“Oh, great. Not another teen pregnancy,” Monroe says, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Go home, Gallagher,” he says. “Get some rest. And don’t knock anyone else up on your way, alright?”

Ian doesn’t hate being home early- it gives him more time with Aileen. Later that night, he helps Fiona make dinner while Estefania, Jimmy’s wife who is apparently staying with them now, entertains Liam and Mickey cradles Aileen in his arms. 

Frank barges in, and searches through the empty Squirrel Fund for money, and comes up empty, so he grabs a pack of beer from the fridge and turns to leave. The beer happens to be Ian’s.

“Woah, no. Those are mine,” Ian says, following after Frank and grabbing the pack from under his arm. “Put it back!” Ian’s so fucking tired of Frank, coming in, messing shit up. He wishes Frank would just disappear off the face of the earth. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank slurs out, running after Ian and grabbing his arm. 

“Hey!” Fiona shouts. 

“Get off me!” Ian shouts as he’s pulled backwards by Frank, but only gets slammed into the washing machine. Frank’s pissed, the most angry Ian thinks he’s ever been, and all of a sudden Ian is getting shoved into the fridge. 

“Fucking stop it!” Fiona shouts, trying to wrestle Frank off of Ian.

“Get out of my face!” Ian tries, but Frank just wraps his hands around Ian’s throat, and then Jimmy is there too, and then all of a sudden Mickey appears with a fucking pan, and Frank collapses on the ground. 

“Jesus!” Ian lets out, massaging his throat. Mickey throws the pan on the counter, and grabs onto his shoulder. 

“You alright?” Ian nods, and everyone gathers around to stare down at Frank, even Estefania, who’s holding Aileen. Ian assumes Mickey shoves her into her arms before he knocked out Frank. 

Estefania shouts something in Portuguese, and then they all carry Frank out of the house and dump him on the sidewalk. Ian takes Aileen back from Estefania. It’s a miracle she’s still asleep throughout the noise. 

Back in the kitchen, he kisses Mickey thank you and everyone gathers around him, Fiona expecting the marks on his neck.

“You hurt, sweetface?” she asks, and he shakes his head, his fingers seeking out Mickey’s. Then the back door clicks open, and Lip appears, his bag over his shoulder, his eyes apologetic. Fiona doesn’t waste a second in running over and throwing her arms around his. Debbie joins in the hug, and Ian moves over, grinning. 

“What made you come back?” Ian asks when they’ve all stepped back to give Lip some room. 

“Mandy,” Lip replies, glancing at Mickey, who nods at him. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, because he is. 

Lip smiles at him. “Me too.”

That night, Ian holds Aileen close to his chest and hums to her a lullaby Fiona used to sing to him. He’s glad Lip is back- it feels like that hole in his life is finally full. And he understands that Lip needed to be away for a while, to think and to heal from Karen, that fucking _bitch_. Ian’s glad that he’s moved on from her and is now with Mandy- Mandy, who he knows has been hopelessly in love with his brother for a while now. 

“Didn’t know you can sing,” Mickey says, coming into their room, his hair damp from his shower. Ian pulls him close with an arm around his waist and presses their lips together. Mickey’s hand rests on Aileen’s back. 

“I don’t,” he replies. “I can hum, though.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, what the fuck ever.” They settle Aileen down in her crib, and then climb in bed, Ian wrapping an arm around Mickey, which is not pushed off this time. It starts snowing outside, though Ian is content and warm, his face buried in his boyfriend’s neck, his daughter close by, and his brother back home. Everything will be fine, he knows, at least until Aileen wakes them up again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your amazing comments and kudos!  
> Stick around for a cut lil' one-shot sometime in December, and then season 3 in January.  
> I hope everyone has a safe Thanksgiving!


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